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A    FIRST    BOOK    IN    PSYCHOLOGY 


THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   ■    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON    •    BOMBAY   -    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


A 


FIRST  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 


BY 


MARY  WHITON   CALKINS 

PROFESSOR    OF     PHILOSOPHY    AND     PSYCHOLOGY 
IN    WELLESLEY   COLLEGE 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1910 

All  rights  reserved 


±37"-"  / 
C2_ 


Copyright,  1909  and  1910, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  October,  1909. 
New  and  enlarged  edition  May,  September,  1910. 


Norfaonlf  ^rrss 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


MIHI  CARISSIMAE  AD  CARMINA  CONDENDA 
CONSILIA  PRAEBENDA  SOLATIA  ADFERENDA 
NATAE  HUNC  LIBRUM  QUAMVIS  EA  INDIG- 
NUM    ANIMO    AMANTISSIMO    DEDICAVI 


r^  .i.\j  yjOO 


PREFACE 

This  book  has  been  written  in  the  ever  strengthening 
conviction  that  psychology  is  most  naturally,  consistently, 
and  effectively  treated  as  a  study  of  conscious  selves  in 
relation  to  other  selves  and  to  external  objects  —  in  a 
word,  to  their  environment,  personal  and  impersonal. 
However  he  defines  his  science,  every  psychologist  talks 
and  writes  about  selves  —  of  myself  and  yourself  —  as  con- 
scious of  people,  of  things,  or  of  laws  and  formulas.  The 
psychology  of  self,  which  this  book  sets  forth,  is  a  con- 
scious adoption  and  scientific  exposition  of  this  natural 
and  practically  inevitable  conception. 

The  book  differs  in  several  ways  from  its  predecessor, 
"  An  Introduction  to  Psychology."  In  general,  I  have 
tried  to  make  a  simpler,  directer  approach  to  the  subject. 
In  the  earlier  book,  I  treated  psychology  in  a  twofold 
fashion,  both  as  science  of  selves  and  as  science  of  ideas 
(or  'mental  processes  '),  discussing  all  forms  of  conscious- 
ness from  both  points  of  view.  I  have  here  abandoned 
this  double  treatment,  with  the  intent  to  simplify  exposi- 
tion, not  because  I  doubt  the  validity  of  psychology  as  study 
of  ideas,  but  because  I  question  the  significance  and  the 
adequacy,  and  deprecate  the  abstractness,  of  the  science 
thus  conceived.  In  a  second  fashion  this  book  differs  from 
the  other.  I  have  tried  to  embody  what  appear  to  me  to 
be  the  important  results  of  so-called  functional  psychology. 
That  is  to  say,  I  have  taken  explicit  account  of  the  charac- 


viii  Preface 

teristic  bodily  reactions  on  environment  wliich  accompany 
perception,  thought,  emotion,  and  will ;  and  I  have  briefly 
considered  the  various  forms  of  consciousness  as  factors  in 
conduct,  and  as  significant  in  individual  and  in  social  de- 
velopment. The  order  of  topics  has  been  radically  changed. 
I  have  included  in  the  Appendix  the  sections  on  the  physi- 
ology of  nervous  system  and  sense  organs,  and  on  abnor- 
mal consciousness,  as  well  as  the  brief  discussions  of  moot 
points  in  psychology.  The  consideration  of  the  different 
classes  of  elements  of  consciousness  instead  of  being  massed 
together  at  the  beginning  of  the  book,  have  been  introduced 
singly,  as  subordinate  parts  of  the  chapters,  or  groups  of 
chapters,  on  perception  and  imagination,  recognition,  and 
thought,  emotion  and  will. 

This  is,  then,  a  new  book,  not  the  condensation  of  an  old 
one ;  yet  it  does  not  teach  a  new  form  of  psychology.  The 
same  conception  of  psychology  underlies  the  two ;  and  I 
have  not  scrupled  to  transfer,  though  seldom  without  some 
change,  pages,  paragraphs,  and  sentences  from  the  earlier 
book. 

Time  would  fail  me  to  name  all  the  people  whose  help 
in  the  preparation  of  this  book  I  gratefully  remember. 
My  greatest  indebtedness  is  to  Professor  Eleanor  A.  McC. 
Gamble,  for  her  discriminating  criticism  of  the  book  as  a 
whole.  My  warm  thanks  are  due,  also,  to  my  colleague. 
Dr.  Helen  Dodd  Cook,  and  to  my  former  colleague.  Pro- 
fessor L.  W.  Cole,  for  their  critical  reading  of  portions  of 
the  text.  And  I  am  glad  of  this  opportunity  to  acknowl- 
edge the  expert  assistance  of  Miss  Helen  G.  Hood,  who 
has  prepared  the  Index. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

INTRODUCTION:    THE   NATURE,   METHODS,   AND   USES 
OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

PAGE 

I.    The  Nature  of  Psychology i 

II.    The  Methods  of  Psychology 6 

III.  The  Forms  of  Psychology 8 

Summary,  p.  9 

IV.  The  Use  of  Psychology 9 

CHAPTER   II 

PERCEPTION   AND   IMAGINATION 
I.    Percepiion  and  Imagination  as  Experiences  of  the  Related 

Self 11 

II.     Perception  and  Imagination  as  Sensational         ...       14 

CHAPTER   III 

THE   SENSATIONAL   ELEMENTS   OF   PERCEPTION  AND 
IMAGINATION 

I.     Elemental  Visual  Experiences 29 

a.  Enumeration  .........       29 

b.  The  Attempted  Explanation  of  Visual  Experiences         .         .       34 

1.  The  Physical  and  Physiological  Conditions  of  the  Con- 

sciousness of  Color  and  Colorless  Light     ...       34 

2.  The  Physical   and   Physiological  Conditions  of  Visual 

Brightness  and  Extensity 40 

XL    Elemental  Auditory  Experiences 41 

a.  Enumeration 41 

b.  Attempted  Explanation  .......  43 

1.  The  Physical  Conditions        ......       43 

2.  The  Physiological  Conditions        .....       45 


X  Contents 

PACE 

III.  Elemental  Olfactory  Experiences         .                ...  47 

IV.  Elemental  Taste  Experiences 47 

V.     Elemental  Pressure  Experiences 40 

a.    Pressure  Experiences  through  External  Excitation        ,          .  50 
d.    Experiences,  mainly  of  Pressure,  through  Internal  Excita- 
tion             52 

VI.     Elemental  Pain  Experience 55 

VII.     Elemental  Experiences  of  Temperature       ....  57 

CHAPTER   IV 

PERCEPTION   AND   IMAGINATION   AS   COMBINATION 
AND   DIFFERENTIATION   OF   ELEMENTS 

A.  Perception  and  Imagination  as  Fusion  and  Assimilation     .  63 

B.  Perception  and  Imagination  as   Realized  Combination  and 

Differentiation 66 

I.    The  Consciousness  of  Space 66 

a.   The  Elements  of  Space  Consciousness          ....  66 

/>.   The  Consciousness  of  Distance,  or  Apartness        ...  67 

<r.   The  Consciousness  of  Form           ......  70 

1.  Of  Two-dimensional  Form    ......  70 

2.  Of  Three-dimensional  Form           .....  72 
d.  Localization  :   the  Consciousness  of  Position          ...  75 

II.    The  Consciousness  of  Harmony 81 

III.    The  Consciousness  of  Rhythm  and  of  Melody   ...  83 

C.  Perception    and    Imagination    as    Combination    of    Limited 

Groups  of  Sense-elements 85 

CHAPTER   V 

The  Bodily  Reactions  in  Perception  and  Imagination         .        .  87 

Summary,  p.  91 

CHAPTER   VI 

ATTENTION 

I.    The  Nature  of  Atfention 93 

II.    The  Objects  of  Attention 95 

III.    The  Classes,  Conditions,  and  Results  of  Attention  .        .  100 

Summary,  p.    oi 


Contents  xi 


CHAPTER  VII 

PRODUCTIVE   IMAGINATION,   MEMORY,   SUCCESSIVE 
ASSOCIATION 

PAGE 

I.     Productive  and  Reproductive  Imagination  „        .        .        .     104 
II.    The  Nature  of  Association 105 

Summary,  p.  112 

III.  The  Direction  of  Association.        .        .        .     '  .        .        •     "3 

IV.  The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing         .        .        .        •     "S 


CHAPTER   VIII 
RECOGNITION 

I.     Recognition  as  Personal  Attitude 124 

II.     Recognition  as  Relational  Consciousness     ,        .        .        .127 
Relational  Elements 

CHAPTER   IX 

THOUGHT:    CONCEPTION 

I.    Conception 133 

a.   The  Nature  of  Conception     .         .         .         .         .         .         .136 

i.   The  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Conception    .....     140 

CHAPTER   X 

THOUGHT  {CotUinued):    JUDGMENT  AND   REASONING 

11.    Judgment 144 

III.  Reasoning 148 

a.  The  Nature  and  Classes  of  Reasoning    .....     148 

b.  The  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Reasoning       .         .         .         .         '153 

c.  Bodily    Conditions    and   Accompaniments    of  Thought  —  in 

Particular  of  Reasoning    .         .         .         .         .         .         -158 

IV.  Thought  and  Language 162 


xii  Contents 

CHAPTER  XI 

EMOTION 

PAGE 

I.    The  Nature  of  Emotion 170 

a.    Emotion  as  Personal  Attitude 1 70 

I).    Emotion  as  Affective  Consciousness       .         .         .         .         .172 
The  Affective  Elements 
II,    The  Forms  of  Emotion 175 

Summary,  p.  175 

a.  Personal  Emotions  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .177 

b.  Impersonal  Emotions     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .189 

III.  The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates  of  Emotion  .        .     197 

a.  The  Physiological  Conditions         .         .         .         .         .         -197 

b.  The  Instinctive  Bodily  Reactions  to  Environment  in  Emotion     204 

IV.  The  Significance  of  Emotion 208 

CHAPTER    XH 

WILL 

I.    The  Nature  of  Will 216 

a.  Will  as  Personal  Attitude 216 

b.  Will  as  Anticipatory  Consciousness         .....     220 

'The  Feeling  of  Realness' 

II.    The  Forms  of  Wilt 223 

Summary,  p.  223 

a.  Outer  and  Inner  Volition  (Will)   ......  224 

b.  Simple  Volition  and  Choice   .......  227 

;il.    The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates  of  Will         .        .  231 

CHAPTER   Xni 

FAITH   AND   BELIEF 
I.    The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Faith  and  Belief       .        .        .     233 
II.    The  Significance  of  Faith  and  of  Will       ....     240 

CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   SOCIAL  CONSCIOUSNESS 
I.    The  Forms  of  the  Social  Consciousness       ....    245 
II,    Imitation  and  Opposition 252 


Contents  xiii 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   RELIGIOUS   CONSCIOUSNESS 

PAGE 

I.    Typical  Personal  Relations 260 

II.    The  Religious  Consciousness 262 

APPENDIX 

SECTION   I 

I.  (§  i).  The  Conception  of  Psychology  as  Science  of  Related 

Selves  contrasted  with  Other  Conceptions       .        .  273 

a.  Psychology  as  Science  of  Ideas      ......  273 

b.  Psychology  as  Science  of  Mental  Functions   ....  274 

c.  Considerations  in  Favor  of  Self-psychology    ....  276 
II.  (§  2).  The  Conception  of  the  Object  in  Psychology    .        .  280 

III.     Bibliography  on  Fundamental  Conceptions  of  Psychology  282 

SECTION   II 

Perception  and  Imagination.     (Note  and  Bibliography)      .        .  284 

SECTION   III 

A.     (§1).  The  Human  Body  from  the  Psychologist's  Standpoint  285 

J.  (§  2).  The  Motor  Structures  of  the  Body    ....  286 

•'II.  (§  3).  The  Cerebro-spinal  Nervous  System     ....  286 

(7.  (§  4).   Nerve-elements:   Neurones         .....  287 

'''•   (§§  5-8)-    Nerve-centres 288 

III.    The   Sense-organs  and  the  Physiological   Conditions  of 

Sensation 297 

a.  The  Eye         ..........  297 

^'  (§§  9~ii)-   The  Structure  of  the  Eye    ....  297 

2.   Phenomena  and  Theories  of  the  Visual  Consciousness  .  301 

((t)   §§  12-15.    Color  Theories.   (With  bibliography)  301 

(/')    §  16.    Contrast  Phenomena         ....  308 

b.  The  Ear          ..........  310 

I-  (§§17-19)-   The  Structure  of  the  Ear  .         .         .         .  310 

2.    Phenomena  and  Theories  of  the  Auditory  Conscious- 
ness         .........  315 

(a)   §  20.    Beats  and  Combination  Tones  .         -315 

(^)    §21.    Theories  of  Hearing.  (With  bibliography)  316 
(c)   §  22.   The  Qualities  of  Pitch       ,         .         .         .318 


xiv  Contents 


c.  (§§23-25).    Eml-urgans  of  Taste  and  Smell  .         .         .         .  319 

d.  (§§  26-27),    Cutaneous  Sense-organs.     (With  bibliography)  324 

e.  (§  28).    End-organs  in  Joints,  Muscles,  etc 327 

B.  The  Docirink  ok  Ei.kmknts  of  Consciousness  ....  328 

§§29-32.    Sensational  Elenu-nts  of  Consciousness      .         .  .  329 

§  12,.    Duration 330 

§  34.    Criteria  and   Enumeration  of  Elements  of  Consciousness 

Table 330 

C.  (§  35).  The  Psychophysical  Law -^-^t, 


SECTION   IV 
I.  (§  i).   Fusion  and  Assimilation 
II.    The  Consciousness  of  Space 

a.  (§  2).   The  Extensity  Element 

b.  (§  3).   The  Consciousness  of 'Apartness 

c.  (§4).    Local  Signs 
^-  (§  5)'  Geometrical  Illusions  . 
^'  (§§  6-9).   The  Nature  and  Conditions  of  the  Consciousness 

of  Depth 

f.  (§  10).    Auditory  Localisation.     (With  bibliography) 


334 
334 
334 
335 
335 
337 

341 
343 


SECTION  V 

I.  (§  i).  The  Psychology  of  Instinct 351 

II.  (§  2).  The  Psychology  of  Learning 353 

Bibliography 356 

SECTION  VI 

Attention 357 

§  I.     Attention  as  Elemental 357 

§  2.     Theories  of  Attention 357 

SECTION  VII 

Association  and  Memory 359 

§§  1-2.     Fusion  and  Association        ......  359 

§  3.     Experiments  in  Association        ......  360 

§  4.     Memorizing.     (Bibliographical  Note)        ....  361 

SECTION   VIII 
I.  (§1).   Experimental  Study  of  Recognition     ....  362 
II.  (§  2).   Relational  Elements  of  Consciousness.     (With  bib- 
liography)   362 

III.  (§3).  The  Tekm  'Feeling' 366 


Contents  xv 

SECTION   IX 

PAGE 

Notes  on  the  Nature  oe  Thought »        .  367 

SECTION   X 

Notes  on  Judgment,  Reasoning,  and  Language      ....  368 

SECTION  XI 

I.  (§  i).  The  Use  of  the  Terms  'Subject'  and  'Object'          .  369 

II.    The  Affective  Elements 369 

a.  (§  2).    Stump  's  Doctrine  of  'Pleasantness'  and   'Unpleas- 
antness' as  Sensational.      (With  bibliography)            .         .  369 
^-  (§  3)'    Wundt's   Tridimensional    Theory    of   the    Affections. 

(With  bibliography)           .......  370 

III.    Notes  on  Emotion 373 

§  4.    Esthetic    Consciousness    and    Humor.       (Eibliograpliical 

Note) 373 

§  5.    Physical  Stimulus  and  Aflective  Consciousness    .         .         .  374 

§  6.    Alternative  Theories  of  Physiological  Condition           .         .  374 

§  7.   The  James-Lange  Theory  .......  375 

§  8.    Experimental  Studies 375 

SECTION   XII 

Will 377 

§  I.   The  'Conation-Element' 377 

§  2.    Impulse  and  Will        ........  377 

SECTION  XIII 

Faith  and  Belief.     (Bibliographical  Note) 378 

SECTION   XIV 

The  Social  Consciousness.     (Bibliographical  Note)  ....  378 

SECTION   XV 

The  Religious  Consciousness 379 

§  I.     Stern's  '  Psychography  '.......  379 

§  2.     Theories  of  the  Religious  Consciousness   ....  379 


XVI 


Contents 


SECTION  XVI 


Abnormal  Psychology         

I.    The  Phenomena  (exchdinc-.  Vekhiical  Phenomena) 
ci.   Dreams  ...... 

/'.    Hypnosis        ...... 

c.    Waking  Illusions  and  Automatic  Writing 

IT.    Thk  Explanation 

111.    Veridical  Phenomena        .... 


PAGE 

381 
381 
381 
384 
388 

392 

395 


SECriON   XVII 


Review  Ouestions 


400 


Index  ok  Subjects 409 

Index  ok  Authors ,        .417 


A    FIRST    BOOK    IN    PSYCHOLOGY 


CHAPTER  I 


INTRODUCTION: 


THE   NATURE,   METHODS,   AND    USES    OF 
PSYCHOLOGY 


I.    The  Nature  of  Psychology 

Psychology  may  be  defined  provisionally  as  science  of  con- 
sciousness— ^of  perception,  memory,  emotion,  and  the  like. 
Many  psychologists  find  this  definition  sufficient  as  it  stands, 
but,  in  the  view  of  the  writer  of  this  book,  it  docs  not  go  far 
enough.  For  consciousness  does  not  occur  impersonally.  Con- 
sciousness, on  the  contrary,  always  is  a  somebody-being-con- 
scious. There  is  never  perception  without  a  somebody  who 
perceives,  and  there  never  is  thinking  unless  some  one  thinks. 
Bearing  this  fact  in  mind,  we  may  define  psychology  more 
exactly  by  naming  it  science  of  the  self  as  conscious.^ 

Either  definition  leads  at  once  to  a  consideration  of  the 
meaning  of  the  word  'science.'  The  scientist  is  distinguished 
from  the  ordinary  observer  in  that  he  describes  exactly  and, 
if  possible,  explains  the  objects  which  both  observe.  Exact 
description  includes,  first,  analysis  and,  second,  classification 
through  observed  likenesses  and  differences;  explanation 
consists  in  linking  one  fact  to  allied  facts  of  its  own  or  of 
another  order.     A  scientist,  for  example,  and  an  unscientific 

*  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.  (§  i).  Throughout  the  book  these  numerical 
exponents,  beginning  anew  in  each  chapter  and  not  always  consecutive, 
refer  to  the  divisions  (§§)  of  a  section  in  the  Appendix  numbered  to  cor- 
respond with  the  given  chapter. 


2  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

observer  pick  up,  each,  a  stone  from  the  roadside.  The 
latter  will  tell  you  that  he  has  found  a  big,  smooth,  gray 
stone.  The  former  describes  his  stone  as  a  smoothed  and 
striated  boulder  of  granite,  rich  in  mica,  and  explains  it  as 
dropped  from  some  glacier.  Similarly,  the  unscientific  ob- 
server of  consciousness  tells  you  that  he  better  remembers 
Booth's  Hamlet  than  Patti's  Lucia.  His  psychologically 
trained  friend  will  describe  the  memory  of  Hamlet  as  a  case  of 
visual  imagination,  distinguishing  it  as  more  intense  than  the 
auditory  imagination  of  Patti's  singing;  and  will  explain  the 
difference  as  due  to  the  fact  that  he  has  been  trained  to  draw, 
whereas  he  does  not  know  one  note  from  another.  In  a  word, 
the  scientist  in  each  of  these  cases  first  describes  phenomena, 
that  is,  observes  them  analytically,  compares,  and  classifies 
them;  and  he  next  seeks,  if  he  can,  to  explain  phenomena  —  in 
these  cases,  the  stone  by  the  roadside  and  the  vivid  memory. 

This  attempt  to  distinguish  science  from  everyday  observa- 
tion must  be  followed  by  an  effort  to  mark  off  science  from 
philosophy,  for  the  psychologist,  it  must  be  confessed,  is 
sometimes  tempted  to  overstep  the  border.  In  brief,  the 
distinction  is  this :  philosophy  seeks  to  discover  the  ultimate 
or  irreducible  nature  of  any  (or  of  all)  reality,  whereas  a 
science  voluntarily  limits  itself  to  one  group  of  facts,  takes  for 
granted  the  existence  of  coordinate  groups,  and  does  not  seek 
to  reduce  one  to  the  other  or  both  to  any  deeper  kind  of  reality. 
The  philosopher,  for  example,  asks  whether  mind  is  a  func- 
tion of  matter,  or  matter  an  expression  of  mind,  or  whether 
both  are  manifestations  of  a  more  ultimate  reality,  whereas 
the  psychologist  takes  for  granted,  on  the  basis  of  ordinary 
observation,  that  minds  and  material  objects  exist. 

Psychology  has  been  defined  as  science  of  the  self-being- 


The  Nature  of  Psychology  3 

conscious;  and  we  rightly  therefore  ask  for  a  further  de- 
scription, even  if  only  a  jjreHminary  description,  of  the  self. 
The  conscious  self  of  each  one  of  us  is  not  a  reality  which  is 
merely  inferred  to  exist:  it  is  immediately  experienced  as 
possessed  of  at  least  four  fundamental  characters.  The 
self  as  immediately  experienced  is  (i)  relatively  persistent  — 
in  other  words,  I  am  in  some  sense  the  same  as  my  childhood 
self;  is  (2)  complex  —  I  am  a  perceiving,  remembering, 
feeling,  willing  self;  is  (3)  a  unique,  an  irreplaceable  self  — 
I  am  closely  like  father,  brother,  or  friend,  but  I  am,  after  all, 
only  myself :  there  is  only  one  of  me.  The  self  is  experienced 
finally  (4)  as  related  to  objects  which  are  either  personal  or 
impersonal.  For  example,  I  am  fond  of  my  mother  (relation 
to  a  personal  object)  and  I  am  tasting  an  orange  (relation  to 
an  impersonal  object). 

As  the  last  sentences  have  indicated,  a  person  or  an  imper- 
sonal fact,  to  which  the  self  is  related,  is  called  its  object  — 
that  of  wdiich  it  is  conscious.^  And  every  such  object, 
whether  personal  or  impersonal,  may  be  further  distinguished 
as  either  private  or  public  (common)  object.  The  com- 
mon, or  public,  personal  object  of  any  self  is  some  other  self. 
For  example.  President  Taft,  as  he  greets  me  at  a  White 
House  reception,  is  my  personal  object  —  but  my  common, 
not  my  private  or  peculiar  object,  since  the  sight  of  him 
is  shared  by  all  the  other  people  in  the  line  behind  me. 
When,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  conscious  of  myself  as,  for 
instance,  enchanted  to  meet  the  President  —  I  am  my  own 
personal  and  private  object;  that  is  to  say,  I  am  conscious 
of  myself  in  a  peculiar  w^ay  in  which  no  one  else  is  conscious 
of  me.  Within  the  class,  also,  of  impersonal  objects  a  dis- 
tinction may  be  made  between  private  and  common  objects, 


4  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

that  is,  l)et\vccn  (a)  my  experiences  —  my  feelings,  for  cxami)lc 
—  regardctl  as  ])eculiarly  mine  and  (b)  impersonal  objects 
of  anybody's  consciousness,  such  as  chemical  formuhe  and 
sidewalks.  And  there  is,  finally,  the  important  distinction 
between  externalized  and  non-externalized  impersonal  ob- 
jects. Thus,  the  sidewalk  is  an  externalized  object,  that  is, 
it  is  conceived  as  if  independent  of  any  and  of  all  selves. 
On  the  other  hand,  neither  my  feeling,  a  private  impersonal 
object,  nor  the  chemical  formula,  a  common  object,  is  ex- 
ternalized. Rather,  each  is  realized  as  experience  —  the  feel- 
ing as  the  experience  which  one  self  has,  the  formula  as  the 
common  experience  of  many  selves.  It  should  be  added  that 
I  am  always,  inattentively  or  attentively,  conscious  of  the 
private,  personal  object,  myself,  whatever  the  other  objects 
of  my  consciousness. 

The  distinctions  which  the  last  paragraphs  have  made  may 
be  summarized  in  the  following  way :  — 

, ,      ,f    •     j  related  to      \  Objects 

(as  Sect)      '  "-^^^i""^  °f  3  (■■«g-''^f  d  ^^> 


Personal  Impersonal 

I  I 


Common  Private  Private  Public 

II  II  II  (common) 


Other  Selves         Myself        My  experiences         Non-externalized,   Externalized, 
(as  object)  (as  mine)  Laws,  etc.  Things 

II  11  H  II 

Topic  of  Topic  of 

Social  Sciences  Psychology 

Tojiics  of  Topic  of  Topics  of 

Psychological  Sciences  Logic,  Mathematics,  etc.     Physical 

(Geisteswissenschaften)  Science 

The  establishment  of  these  distinctions  between  objects  of 
consciousness  serves  thus  to  differentiate  groups  of  sciences. 
It  appears  that  psychology  deals  with  'private  objects,'  pri- 
marily with  my  particular,  intimately  known  'own  self,'  but 


The  Nature  of  Psychology  5 

also  with  percepts,  thoughts,  and  feelings  as  they  appear  to  me 
and  to  nobody  else.  The  concern  of  sociology  on  the  other 
hand  is  with  selves  as  common,  or  universal,  phenomena, 
objects  of  anybody's  consciousness;  and  logic  and  mathe- 
matics deal  with  thoughts  —  with  arithmetical  rules  and 
logical  axioms,  for  example  —  which  are  public  property, 
parts  of  common  experience.  Sharply  distinguished  from 
all  these  are  the  physical  sciences  which  concern  themselves 
with  externalized  objects —  with  plants,  animals,  stones,  acids, 
falling  bodies.  Psychology,  to  be  sure,  since  its  object  — 
the  self  —  is  related  to  objects  of  every  sort,  takes  account  of 
all  these  objects  of  the  other  sciences ;  that  is  to  say,  I  —  as 
psychologist  —  study  myself  as  related  to  other  self,  to  uni- 
versal principle  or  thought,  and  to  external  object;  but 
psychology  has  to  do  with  all  these  objects  not  in  themselves 
but  only  in  relation  to  the  '  myself.'  Sometimes,  indeed,  the 
word  '  object '  is  narrowed  so  as  to  apply  only  to  impersonal 
objects  of  one  class  or  another,  and  not  to  the  self. 

It  must  be  pointed  out  that  certain  real  difficulties  at- 
tend this  classification  of  the  self's  objects.  There  is, 
first,  the  difficulty  of  conceiving  the  self  as  both  subject 
and  object.  And  there  is,  second,  the  difficulty  in\-olved 
in  conceiving  the  'thing,'  the  externalized  object,  as  in- 
dependent of  all  selves,  when  yet  the  self  is  related  to  it 
and  conscious  of  it.  But  both  these  are  difficulties  only  for 
the  metaphysician.  The  psychologist  who,  like  every  scien- 
tist, must  accept  certain  facts,  without  looking  for  their  ulti- 
mate explanation,  rests  in  the  first  case  on  the  immediate 
certainty  that  I  am  conscious  of  myself.  He  avoids  the  sec- 
ond difficulty  in  that  he  does  not  assert  that  external  objects, 
independent  of  all  sehes,  really  exist.     He  teaches  merely 


6  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

that,  in  perceiving,  one  uncritically  assumes  the  existence 
of  such  independent  objects. 

This  account,  brief  as  it  is,  of  the  self  as  related,  provides 
the  outline  for  our  study  of  psychology.  The  chapters  which 
follow  will  develop  these  distinctions.  They  will  include  also 
some  attempt  to  explain  these  facts  of  psychology ;  and  in 
the  effort  to  explain  they  will  range  beyond  the  domain 
of  psychology  proper  and  will  look  for  facts  of  physics,  of 
biology,  and  of  physiology,  for  phenomena  of  vibration,  of 
adaptation,  of  anatomical  structure,  with  which  to  link  the 
psychic  changes. 

II.     The  Methods  of  Psychology 

The  methods  of  psychology  are,  in  general,  the  two  meth- 
ods of  every  science :  description  (that  is,  analysis  and  classi- 
fication) and  explanation.  But  besides  these  fundamental 
forms  of  procedure,  every  science  has  certain  methods  pe- 
culiar to  itself;  and  the  method  which  distinguishes  psy- 
chology is  that  of  introspection.  This  follows  directly  from 
what  has  been  said  of  the  subject-matter  of  psychology. 
Its  facts  are  not  the  common,  independent,  externalized  facts 
of  the  physical  sciences,  but  the  inner  facts,  selves,  and  ideas. 
To  observe  the  psychic  fact  one  has  not,  therefore,  to  sweep 
the  heavens  with  a  telescope,  nor  to  travel  about  in  search  of 
rare  geological  formations ;  but  one  has  merely  to  ask  oneself 
such  questions  as:  "How  do  I  actually  feel?"  "What  do 
I  mean  when  I  say  that  I  perceive,  remember,  believe?" 

The  method  has  obvious  advantages.  It  makes  no  especial 
conditions  of  time  and  place;  it  requires  no  mechanical  ad- 
junct; it  demands  no  difficult  search  for  suitable  material; 
at  any  moment,  in  all  surroundings,  with  no  external  outfit, 


The  Methods  of  Psychology  7 

one  may  study  the  rich  material  provided  by  every  imaginable 
experience.  In  an  extreme  sense,  all  is  grist  that  comes  to 
the  psychologist's  mill.  The  apparent  facility  of  introspec- 
tion is,  however,  one  of  its  greatest  dangers.  Nothing  seems 
easier  than  to  render  to  ourselves  a  true  account  of  what  goes 
on  in  our  consciousness.  We  are  tempted,  therefore,  to  over- 
look the  need  of  training  in  introspection  and  to  minimize 
its  characteristic  difficulties.  Chief  among  these  is  the 
change  which  it  makes  in  its  own  object.  To  attend  to  a 
particular  experience  actually  alters  it.  If  I  ask  myself  in 
the  midst  of  a  hearty  laugh,  "Just  what  is  this  feeling  of 
amusement?"  forthwith  the  feeling  has  vanished,  and  a 
strenuous,  serious  mood  has  taken  its  place.  Much  the  same 
is  true  of  every  form  of  consciousness.  To  observe  myself 
perceiving,  remembering,  or  judging  is  no  longer  simply  to 
perceive,  to  remember,  and  to  judge,  but  to  reflect  upon 
perception,  memory,  and  judgment.  It  is  true,  therefore,  as 
many  psychologists  have  shown,  that  introspection  is  never 
of  the  immediate  present,  but  is  rather  a  case  of  memory, 
and  subject,  therefore,  to  all  the  uncertainties  of  memory. 

The  verification  of  our  introspection  is  best  secured  by 
an  important  subsidiary  method  shared  by  psychology  with 
many  of  the  physical  sciences  —  the  method  of  experiment. 
To  experiment  is  to  regulate  artificially  the  conditions  of 
phenomena  in  such  wise  as  to  repeat,  to  isolate,  and  to  vary 
them  at  will.  In  a  multitude  of  ways,  therefore,  experiment 
aids  scientific  observation.  Repetition  of  phenomena  insures 
accuracy  of  analysis,  and  makes  it  possible  to  verify  the  re- 
sults of  a  single  observation ;  isolation  of  conditions  narrows 
the  object  of  study,  and  avoids  the  distraction  of  the  ob- 
server's attention ;  and,  finally,  variation  of  conditions  makes 


8  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

it  possible  to  cx])lain  a  j)hcnomcnon  exactly,  by  connectin;^ 
it  with  those  conditions  only  which  it  always  accompanies. 
But  because  psychic  facts  differ  from  i)hysical  phenomena 
in  that  they  can  never  be  repeated  or  exactly  measured, 
psychological  experiment  directly  concerns  itself  with  the 
physical  stimulation  of  psychic  facts  and  with  the  physical 
reactions  to  these  stimuli.  For  example,  though  I  cannot 
measure  the  vividness  of  a  memory  image,  I  can  count  the 
number  of  repetitions  of  a  series  of  words  which  I  read  aloud 
to  the  person  on  whom  I  experiment;  and  I  can  compare  the 
number  of  errors  he  makes  in  repeating  the  word-series  when 
he  has  heard  it  once  only,  three  times,  or  five  times.  In  this 
way  I  can  gain,  experimentally,  a  conclusion  about  the  rela- 
tion of  memory  to  frequency  of  experience,  and  by  repeating 
the  experiment  many  times  with  the  same  individual  and  with 
others,  I  may  arrive  at  some  trustworthy  general  conclusion. 

III.    The  Forms  of  Psychology 

This  chapter  has  so  far  dealt,  as  this  book  will  mainly 
deal,  with  the  fundamental  form  of  psychology  —  normal, 
introspective  psychology,  the  scientific  study  of  oneself  being 
conscious.  Based  on  this  introspective  study  is  a  second 
important,  though  subsidiary,  branch  of  the  science,  com- 
parative or  inferential  jjsychology,  the  science  of  inference 
from  the  structure  or  from  the  behavior  of  living  organisms, 
human  or  merely  animal,  to  the  nature  of  other  selves.  The 
objects  of  normal  comparative  psychology  are  animals,  chil- 
dren, and  primitive  men.  Its  methods  are  the  careful  obser- 
vation of  the  words  or  actions  of  the  animals  and  people  whom 
it  studies,  and  the  inference  of  the  conscious  exi^ericnccs 
which  underlie  these  outer  manifestations.     Such    inference 


The  Use  of  Psychology  g 

involves  introspection,  because  it  consists  in  attributing  one's 
own  experience,  under  given  circumstances,  to  other  selves; 
but  this  introspection,  because  imputed  to  others,  has  not  the 
same  value  as  the  study  of  one's  own  consciousness.  Yet 
comparative  studies  of  structure  and  of  behavior  have  use- 
fully directed  introspection  and  have  richly  contributed  to  the 
explanatory  side  of  psychology.  The  following  summary 
enumerates  these  different  forms  of  psychology :  — 

A.   Normal  Psychology 
I.    Introspective. 

Study  of  the  normal  adult  self  and  its  experiences. 
II.    Inferential  (Comparative). 

Study  of  the  normal  consciousness  of 

a.  Animals. 

b.  Children. 

c.  Primitive  men. 

B.   Abnormal  Psychology 
I.   Introspective. 

Study  of  the  abnormal  experiences  of  the  normal  self. 
II.    Comparative. 

a.  Study  of  deficient  and  exceptional  selves. 

b.  Study  of  mentally  deranged  selves. 

IV.    The  Use  of  Psychology 

A  final  question  still  calls  for  a  provisional  answer,  the 
question:  Of  what  special  use  is  the  study  of  psychology? 
The  technical  psychologist  may  be  tempted  to  ignore  the 
question  on  the  ground  that  it  should  never  have  been  asked, 
that  —  rather  —  the  student  must  assume  at  the  outset  the 
essential  imj)ortance  of  all  study,  the  vital  significance  of 
knowing  anything.  But  the  psychologist,  in  our  sense  of  the 
term,  has  no  need  to  take  this  ground.  He  studies  the  related 
self;  and  human  conduct  is  the  acti\'e  relation  of  self  to  other 


lo  A   First  Book  in   Psychology 

selves.  A  deeper  acc^uaintance  with  my  own  nature  may 
surely,  therefore,  have  a  significant  inllucnce  on  my  behavior. 
True,  the  study  of  behavior  as  such  belongs  to  ethics  and  to 
pedagogy  rather  than  to  psychology ;  but  in  studying  psychol- 
ogy one  may  keep  in  mind  the  bearing  of  the  science  upon 
practical  problems.  In  more  concrete  terms :  the  study  of 
psychology  is  practically  useful  in  so  far  as  it  aids  me,  on 
the  one  hand,  to  preserve  and  to  develop  myself,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  effectively  to  influence  my  environment. 


CHAPTER   II 

PERCEPTION    AND   IMAGINATION 

I.    Perception  and  Imagination  as  Experiences  of  the 
Related  Self 

What  am  I  at  this  present  moment  ?  I  am  a  self,  conscious 
of  holding  a  blue  celluloid  pen,  of  looking  down  upon  a  white 
page,  of  hearing  "  The  Road  to  Mandalay  "  whistled  by  a  man 
who  is  mowing  beneath  my  window,  conscious  also  of  the 
fragrance  of  the  freshly  cut  grass  and  the  warmth  of  the  day, 
and,  all  the  while,  imagining  a  Tyrolese  mountain  landscape 
which  I  have  never  seen,  I  am,  in  other  words,  a  perceiving 
and  imagining  self,  and  though  this  is  certainly  no  exhaustive 
account  of  me,  still  I  may  well  attempt  no  more,  at  this  stage 
of  my  psychologizing,  than  the  close  description  and  the  ex- 
planation of  perception  and  imagination,  the  experiences  so 
far  enumerated  in  the  self  of  the  present.* 

It  will  be  convenient  to  begin  with  the  analysis  of  perception. 
I  notice  first  that  in  perceiving  pen,  paper,  and  tune  I  am 
directly  aware  of  a  certain  inevitableness  and  involuntariness 
in  the  experience.     I  must  see  and  touch  just  this  pen;  I  can- 

*  Before  reading  further,  and  without  consulting  any  book,  the  student 
should  state,  in  writing,  all  the  likenesses  and  the  differences  which  he  can 
observe  between  (i)  his  experience  as  he  perceives  the  desk  (or  rug,  or  hat) 
at  which  he  is  looking,  and  (2)  his  experience  as  he  imagines  a  similar  desk 
(rug,  or  hat)  in  some  other  room.  The  record  of  this  introspection  may 
profitably  be  compared  with  that  of  other  students. 

II 


12  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

not  hclj)  feeling  warm;  I  must  hear  this  tune  and  must  smell 
the  odor  of  the  falling  grass.  I  may  wish  that  I  held  a  silver 
pen,  that  I  were  cool,  not  warm,  that  I  were  smelling  roses 
instead  of  hay;  but  I  am  bound  down,  in  my  perceiving,  to 
precisely  this  experience.  I  am,  in  a  word,  directly  conscious 
of  myself  as  receptive.  And  this  direct  consciousness  of 
receptivity,  prominent  in  my  perception,  is  wanting  to  my 
imagination.  In  some  sense,  at  least,  my  imaginings  are 
under  my  own  control.  In  the  present  case,  for  example,  I 
can  turn  from  the  inner  contemplation  of  the  mountain 
view  to  the  imagining  —  let  us  say  —  of  the  prosaic  interior 
of  a  German  psychological  laboratory. 

A  second  significant  difference  between  perceiving  and 
imagining  is  revealed  not  of  necessity  during  the  perception, 
but  as  I  reflect  on  it  or  look  back  on  it.  To  such  reflective 
observation  it  is  evident  that  my  perception  has  been  shared, 
or  at  any  rate  that  it  might  have  been  shared,  by  other  selves ; 
whereas  I  need  not,  unless  I  will,  share  my  imaginings.  For 
example,  the  housemaid  dusting  the  room  can  see  my  blue 
pen  and  white  paper,  can  hear  the  whistled  melody,  and  smell 
the  hay  and  feel  the  warmth.  But  the  housemaid  does  not 
share  my  imagination  of  the  Tyrolese  mountains  any  more 
than  I  read  the  imagination  which  has  brought  a  smile  to  her 
lips.  People  share  our  imaginings  in  a  sense,  when  they  try 
to  reproduce  them,  yet,  evidently,  the  world  of  imagination 
has  a  privacy  foreign  to  the  common  world  of  our  j^erceptions. 

From  this  privacy  of  imagination  follows  a  third  dift'erence. 
It  is  this :  perception  is  reflectively  regarded  as  my  conscious- 
ness of  relation  to  an  external  or '  independent'  object,  whereas 
the  object  of  imagination,  though  impersonal,  is  not  exter- 
nalized.    The  object  of  i)erception  is  thus,  from  the  point  of 


Perception  and  Imagination  13 

view  of  the  j')sychologist,  the  external  [)en  or  mowing-machine, 
whereas  the  object  of  imagination  is  no  external  object,  but 
rather  the  mere  image  of  landscape  or  of  harmony. 

Three  differences  have  thus  been  emphasized  as  distin- 
guishing perception  from  imagination :  (i)  my  immediately 
realized  receptivity,  or  passivity,  in  perceiving;  (2)  the  re- 
flectively realized  community  of  my  perception  with  the 
experience  of  other  selves;  (3)  my  relation  in  perception  to 
an  object  which  I  regard  as  independent  and  external.  But 
these  distinctions  must  not  obscure  the  likenesses.  Percep- 
tion resembles  imagination  in  at  least  three  ways,  (i)  Both 
are  known  (to  reflection,  if  not  immediately)  as  impersonal 
consciousness,  in  the  sense  that  in  perceiving  and  imagin- 
ing I  am  not  predominantly  conscious  of  selves.  I  perceive 
or  imagine  pen,  paper,  tune,  but  I  do  not  perceive  or 
imagine  you  or  myself.  In  the  second  place,  (2)  both  per- 
ception and  imagination  are  forms  of  particularizing  con- 
sciousness. I  do  not,  for  example,  perceive  or  imagine  pens 
in  general,  or  even  the  class  of  celluloid  pens,  but  rather  this 
particular,  individual  pen.  A  final,  highly  important  like- 
ness of  perception  and  imagination  is  the  following :  (3)  Both 
are  chiefly  sensational  experiences  concerned  with  vision, 
touch,  and  hearing  rather  than  with  feeling  or  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  relation.  This  consideration  will  lead  us  to  a 
psychological  analysis  difl"erent  from  that  already  attempted. 
It  is  expedient,  therefore,  to  summarize  our  results.  Percep- 
tion has  been  described  as  sensational,  passive,  impersonal, 
externalizing,  and  particularizing  consciousness  reflectively 
realized  as  common  to  other  selves.  Imagination  has  been 
described  as  sensational,  im[)ersonal,  and  particularizing, 
but  as  lacking  the  consciousness  of  passivity,  of  externality, 


14  A.   Firs  I  Book  in  Psychology 

and  of  community.      To  the  detailed  study  of  perception 
and  imagination  as  sensational  we  must  now  turn. 


II.    Perception  and  Imagination  as  Sensational 

The  conscious  self  is,  as  we  have  seen,  persistent,  unique, 
related,  and  complex.  If  now  we  arbitrarily  drop  out  of  ac- 
count the  persistence,  the  uniqueness,  and  even  the  rclatcd- 
ness,  we  are  still  conscious  of  complexity.  The  mental 
reduction  of  this  complex  experience  to  its  lowest  terms  gives 
what  are  called  the  structural  elements  of  consciousness. 
These  apparently  irreducible  constituents  seem  to  fall  into 
three  main  classes  which  have  been  called  'sensational' 
(or  'substantive')*;  (2)  'attributive'  (sometimes  called  by 
the  name  of  the  chief  subclass  'affective'  elements);  and 
(3)  'relational.'  To  illustrate  from  the  experience  which  we 
are  studying :  My  consciousness  of  blueness  is  a  sensational 
element ;  my  consciousness  of  the  unpleasantness  of  the  warm 
day  is  an  affective  element ;  and,  finally,  my  consciousness  of 
the  contrast  between  the  blue  of  the  pen  handle  and  the 
blue  of  my  account-book  cover  is  a  relational  experience.  It 
is  evident  that  my  experiences  may  be  distinguished  according 
as  one  or  other  of  these  elemental  kinds  of  consciousness  pre- 
dominates ;  and  jt  is  equally  evident  that,  from  this  point  of 
view,  perception  and  imagination  are  both  chiefly  sensational 
in  character,  distinguished  mainly  as  the  consciousness  of 
colors,  sounds,  and  fragrances. 

Between  perception  and  imagination  as  sensational  com- 
plexes three  further  distinctions  may  ordinarily  be  made. 
If  I   close  my  eyes,  and  then  imagine   the  oval  gilt  frame 

*  On  all  this,  cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  29  S. 


Perception  and  Imagination  iz^ 

which  stands  on  my  desk,  and  if  I  then  reopen  my  eyes  and 
compare  perception  with  imagination,  I  shall  find  that  the  im 
agination  differs  from  the  perception,  first,  in  that  it  is  sensa- 
tionally less  intense  —  the  gilt  of  the  imaged  frame  is  duller; 
second,  in  that  it  is  less  complex  —  I  lack  altogether  the  con- 
sciousness of  certain  details  of  the  frame;  and  finally,  in  that 
it  is  more  evanescent,  more  readily  displaced  by  other  imag- 
inings. And  yet  there  are  cases  of  imagination  which  lack  one 
or  more  of  these  characteristics.  The  perception  of  one's 
bodily  attitude,  for  example,  may  be  less  intense,  less  accurate, 
and  less  permanent  than  the  visual  imagination  of  a  face  or 
the  auditory  imagination  of  a  melody ;  one's  perception  of  an 
unknown  substance,  which  one  merely  tastes  or  smells,  may 
be  less  vivid,  also,  than  one's  visual  imagination  of  a  bowl 
of  strawberries  or  of  a  roasted  duck,  '  All  this  proves  thai 
intensity,  detail,  and  stability  are  merely  common  and  not 
necessary  characteristics  of  perception.  Indeed,  the  only 
invariable  distinctions  are  those  enumerated  in  the  preceding 
section  of  this  chapter. 

In  perception  and  in  imagination  alike,  my  sensational 
experiences  are  of  different  sorts :  I  see,  hear,  smell,  and  touch. 
And  one  way  of  classifying  both  perception  and  imagination 
is  according  to  predominant  sense-elements.  Such  a  classi- 
fication is,  however,  of  most  significance  as  applied  to  imagi- 
nation, for,  as  has  appeared,  my  imagination  is  in  some  degree 
controllable ;  and  I  may  therefore  make  practical  use  of  the 
discovery  that  my  imagination  is  chiefly  visual  or  auditory. 
In  what  follows  we  shall  study  imagination  as  sensational, 
but  we  must  remind  ourselves  that  all  the  distinctions  which 
arc  made  are  equally,  though  less  fruitfully,  ajjplicable  to 
perception. 


i()  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

("oncretc  imagination  —  that  is  to  say,  the  imagination  ol 
things,  scenes,  and  events  —  must,  in  the  first  jjlace,  he  (Hs- 
tinguishcd  from  merely  verbal  imagination.  Concrete  imagi- 
nation may  belong  to  any  sense-order,  but  it  is  in  the  main 
cither  visual,  auditory,  or  tactual;  or  else  it  belongs  to  a 
'mixed'  tyi)e,  including  elements  of  several  kinds.  Every 
student  of  j)sychology  should  undertake  an  introspective 
study  of  the  sense-type  of  his  imagination  by  the  use  of  some 
such  questionary  as  the  following :  *  — 

a.    In  imagining  a  pink  rose, 

1.  (a)  Do  you  see  its  color  and  the  green  of  its  leaves? 

{b)  Are  the  pink  and  green  as  vivid  as  those  of  a  real  rose? 

2.  (fl)  Can  you  see  its  shape? 

{b)  Is  it  as  distinctly  outlined  as  the  objects  now  before  you  on 
the  table? 

3.  Can  you  smell  it? 

4.  Can  you  feel  the  smoothness  of  its  petals  and  leaves? 

5.  Can  you  feel  the  coolness  of  its  petals  and  leaves? 

6.  Can  you  feel  the  prick  of  its  thorns? 

^'.    Tn  thinking  of  the  words  of  "My  Country,  'tis  of  thee," 

1.  Can  you  see  them  printed? 

2.  Can  you  hear  yourself  say  them? 

3.  Can  you  hear  yourself  sing  them? 

4.  Can  you  feel  yourself  form  the  words  in  your  throat  and  with 

your  lips  and  tongue? 

5.  Can  you  hear  the  organ  play  "America"? 

c.  Arrange  the  following  experiences  in  order  of  the  distinctness  {i.e. 
clearness  or  vividness)  with  which  you  can  remember  (or  imagine) 
them :  — 

1.  A  triangle  drawn  with  black  lead  on  white  paper. 

2.  A  plane  surface  of  lemon-yellow. 

3.  The  hum  of  a  mosquito. 

4.  The  crack  of  a  whip. 

*  Condensed  from  a  questionary  formulated  by  Professor  Gamble  and 
used  in  the  Wellesley  College  Laboratory  since  1898-1899.  These  questions 
should  be  answered,  in  writing,  before  the  student  reads  further. 


Sciisc-lypcs  of  Imagination  17 

5.  The  'feci'  of  soap. 

6.  The  'feel'  of  dough. 

7.  The  heat  of  a  hot  plate. 

8.  The  smell  of  peppermint. 

9.  The  smell  of  onion. 
10.  The  taste  of  salt. 

It  is  obvious  that  one  who  'sees'  the  pink  and  green  anrl 
shape  of  the  rose  has  a  visual  imagination,  and  that  visual 
imaginations  differ  according  as  colors  or  forms  arc  more 
distinctly  visualized.  The  person  with  auditory  imagination 
can  'hear'  the  sound  of  the  organ  and  the  crack  of  the  whip; 
and,  in  similar  fashion,  the  other  types  of  concrete  imagination 
are  tested  by  these  questions.  It  should  be  noted  that,  in 
many  experiences,  visual  imagination  supplements  the  per- 
ception of  pressure  and  of  sound,  as  when  we  'localize'  a 
touch  by  imagining  the  look  of  wrist  or  of  forehead,  on 
which  it  falls,  or  imagine  the  puffing  red  motor-car  at  sound 
of  its  bell. 

There  is  no  character  in  which  individuals  differ  more 
widely  than  in  the  prevailing  sense-type  of  their  imagination. 
In  recalling,  for  example,  the  balcony  scene  in  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  some  people  see  with  the  eye  of  the  mind  the  shadowy 
form_  of  Romeo  and  the  figure  of  Juliet,  clear-cut  against  the 
lighted  window,  the  'stony  limits,'  the  cypresses,  statues,  and 
fountains  of  the  Italian  garden,  and  the  "blessed  moon  .  .  . 
that  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops";  others,  like 
Juliet,  may  "know  the  sound  of  that  tongue's  utterance," 
and  may  hear,  in  imagination,  Romeo's  deep-voiced  love- 
making  and  the  "silver-sweet  sound"  of  Juliet's  replies  "like 
softest  music  to  attending  ears."  Still  others,  finally,  may 
image  Romeo's  movements  as  "with  love's  light  wings" 
he  "  did  o'erperch  these  walls." 


v^ 


1 8  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

The  study  of  an  imaginative  writer  often  reveals  the  pre- 
dominant sense-order  of  his  imagination.  His  pages  may 
glow  with  color  or  thrill  with  music  or  (juiver  with  rhythmic 
motion.  The  blind  poet,  Philip  Bourke  ISIarston,  for  exam- 
ple, describes  a  garden  ravaged  by  "winds  in  the  night, 
without  pity  or  pardon,"  in  verses  which  contain  no  color- 
word,  though  they  make  mention  of  the  garden's  'scent  and 
sound,'  and  arc  full  of  striking  images  of  pressure  and  of 
cold :  — 

"All  my  song  birds  are  dead  in  their  bushes  — 
Woe  for  such  things  ! 
Robins  and  Hnnets  and  blackbirds  and  thrushes 
Dead,  with  stitif  wings. 

"Oh,  my  dead  birds!   each  in  his  nest  there. 
So  cold  and  stark; 
What  was  the  horrible  death  that  pressed  there 
When  skies  were  dark? 

"What  shall  I  do  for  my  roses'  sweetness 
The  Summer  round  — 
For  all  my  Garden's  divine  completeness 
Of  scent  and  sound? 

This  colorless  garden  stands  in  sharp  contrast  to  Shelley's 
forest,  swept  by  the 

"...  wild  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being. 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are  driven,  like  ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing, 
Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red." 

Sometimes,  indeed,  a  poet's  lines  seem  to  disclose  to  us 
his  peculiar  delight  in  special  colors  or  sounds.  So  Shelley, 
once  more,  seems  most  readily  to  imagine  the  greens  and 


Sense-types  of  Imagination  19 

blues  and  purples  of  nature.  He  looks  off  upon  wide  land- 
scapes, and 

"  Beneath  is  spread  like  a  green  sea 
Tlic  waveless  plain  of  Lombardy." 

He  looks  downward,  from  his  boat,  and  sees 

"...   the  deep's  untrampled  floor 
With  green  and  purple  sea-weeds  strown.  " 

He  looks  outward  to  far  horizons  and 

"  Blue  isles  and  snowy  mountains  wear 
The  purple  noon's  transparent  might." 

He  does  not  see  the  "  legion'd  rooks  "  who  "  hail  "  the  rising 
sun  as  black,  but  compares 

"  —  their  plumes  of  purple  grain 
Starr'd  with  drops  of  golden  rain  " 

to  clouds  "  fleck'd  with  fire  and  azure."  Even  his  gardens 
are  full  of  "tender  blue  bells,"  of  "flowers  azure,  black, 
and  streak'd  with  gold,"  and  of  "broad  flag-flowers,  purple 
prank'd  with  white." 

v  The  most  common  type  of  concrete  imagination  probably 
is  the  visual,  for,  in  spite  of  individual  differences,  most  people 
can  imagine  objects  in  some  vague  outline  and  in  some  dull 
color.  Every  sculptor,  painter,  or  architect  who  sees  his  vision 
before  he  embodies  it  has  \'isual  imagination.  The  inventor 
also  'sees'  his  engine  or  his  dynamo  in  all  its  parts  and  con- 
nections, before  he  enters  upon  the  actual  construction  of  it; 
and  the  well-dressed  woman  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning, 
the  completed  gown  within  the  shapeless  fabric.  Above  all, 
visual  imagination  is  the  endowment  of  the  geometer  and  of 
the  scientist.  The  one  imagines  the  projections  and  inter- 
sections of  lines  and  planes;    the  other  beholds  the  planets 


20  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

moving  in  tlicir  courses,  pcojjlcs  the  earlli  with  the  forms 
of  animals  long  extinct,  or  makes  of  every  common  object 
a  palpitating  dance  of  atoms  and  subatoms.  Even  a  poet's 
imagination  may  hesitate  before  the  challenging  hypotheses 
of  science,  for  it  is  said  that  Wordsworth  once  exclaimed, 
"I  have  not  enough  imagination  to  become  a  geologist." 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  value  of  visual  images  to  artists,  inventors, 
and  mathematicians,  it  must  at  once  be  acknowledged  that, 
even  to  them,  the  visual  type  of  imagination  is  not  indispen- 
sable, but  that  it  may  be  replaced  by  what  we  know  as  the 
j;actual-motor  tyi:)c,  the  imaging  of  the  movements  by  which 
one  traces  the  outlines  of  figures  or  of  designs.  Galton 
found,  as  result  of  careful  inquiry,  that  "men  who  declare 
tliemselves  entirely  deficient  in  the  power  of  seeing  mental 
])ictures  —  can  become  painters  of  the  rank  of  Royal  Acade- 
micians." And  James  says  of  himself,  "I  am  a  good 
draughtsman  and  have  a  very  lively  interest  in  pictures, 
statues,  architecture,  and  decoration,  and  a  keen  sensibility 
to  artistic  effects.  But  I  am  an  extremely  poor  visualizer, 
and  find  myself  often  unable  to  reproduce  in  my  mind's  eye 
pictures  which  I  have  most  carefully  examined."  *  In  these 
cases,  a  quickness  to  recognize  and  to  discriminate  colors 
and  forms  is  combined  with  the  inability  to  imagine  them. 
Evidently,  visual  imagination  is  here  replaced  by  pressure 
imagination  —  imagination  of  the  motions  necessary  to  the 
production  of  sculpture,  machine,  or  figure :  a  sculptor  of  this 
type  reproduces  in  imagination  the  movements  of  his  chisel, 
and  the  geometrician  draws  his  figure  or  indicates  by  imaged 
movements  the  sweep  of  orbits  and  the  intersection  of  lines. 

Kuipe  discovered,  experimentally,  the  same  lack  of  visual 

*  The  "Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  53. 


Sense-types  of  Imagination  21 

imagination.*  He  tested  the  color-imagery  of  several  stu- 
dents by  pronouncing  in  a  darkened  room  the  names  of  colors 
and  requiring  them  to  describe  the  resulting  experiences. 
One  of  these  young  men  proved  utterly  incapable,  with  the 
strongest  effort,  of  imagining  any  color  whatever.  Another 
historic  exami)le  is  Charcot's  patient,  a  man  whose  visual 
imagery  was  impaired  through  nervous  disease.  "Asked  to 
draw  an  arcade,  he  says,  '  I  remember  that  it  contains  semi- 
circular arches,  that  two  of  them  meeting  at  an  angle  make 
a  vault,  but  how  it  looks  I  am  absolutely  unable  to  imagine.' 
.  .  .  He  complains  of  his  loss  of  feeling  for  colors.  'My 
wife  has  black  hair,  this  I  know;  but  I  can  no  more  recall 
its  color  than  I  can  her  person  and  features !'"  f 

The  auditory  type  of  imagination  is  unquestionably  less 
common  than  the  \'isual,  and  it  is  almost  always  closely  com- 
bined with  imagery  of  the  motor-tactual  sort.  It  is  the  image- 
type  of  the  great  musicians,  of  Beethoven,  for  exami)le,  who 
composed  his  symphonies  when  totally  unable  to  hear  a  note 
of  them.  But  though  less  significant  to  most  of  us  than  the 
visual  images,  the  concrete  auditory  imagination  belongs,  at 
least  in  some  degree,  to  all  people  who  are  able  to  recall 
voices  and  melodies.  The  prevalence  of  auditory  imagery 
is  suggested  by  the  ordinary  ruse  of  violin  players,  who  pro- 
duce the  effect  of  a  diminuendo,  lengthened  beyond  the  actual 
sound,  by  continuing  the  drawing  motion  of  the  bow  when  it 
no  longer  touches  the  string. 

The  most  significant  type  of  tactual  (or  pressure)  imagina- 
tion is  frequently  called  the  tactual-motor  type  —  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  pressures,  often  internal,  which  are  originally 

*  "Outlines  of  Psychology,"  Section  27,  9. 
t  Cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  59. 


22  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

due  to  bodily  movements;  the  imagination,  for  example, 
of  one's  shortened  breath  as  one  is  running.  Imagination 
may  be,  also,  of  some  other  dermal  sense-type,  that  is,  of 
pain,  of  warmth,  or  of  cold.  Such  experiences  are  perhaps 
rare,  but  they  unquestionably  occur.  Keats,  for  example, 
vividly  images  the  coldness  of 

"  a  draught  of  vintage,  that  hath  been 
Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth." 

One  must  carefully  distinguish  between  such  imagining 
and  the  corresponding  peripherally  aroused  sensation.  The 
vivid  account  of  a  wound  or  a  physical  injury  may  excite, 
through  the  connection  of  cortical  neurones  through  motor 
neurones  with  organic  reactions,  the  actual,  visceral  pressure- 
sensations  which  constitute  the  feeling  of  faintness,  and  it 
may  even  excite  the  pain  end-organs.  In  the  same  way, 
I  grow  actually  hot  over  a  remembered  mortification  and  I 
shiver  with  cold  at  a  revived  fear. 

Smell  and  taste  imagination  are  relatively  infrequent  and 
their  occurrence  is,  indeed,  often  denied.  It  is  said  that  when 
we  imagine  objects  fragrant  in  themselves,  such  as  roses  or 
cheese  or  coffee,  we  imagine  their  look  or  their  feel  without 
imagining  their  odor;  and  that  when  we  suppose  ourselves 
to  imagine  tastes,  we  are  really  imagining  the  colors  and  the 
forms  of  food.  It  will  be  admitted  that  from  our  dream 
dinners  we  are  apt  to  wake  before  tasting  anything,  and  that 
poetic  descriptions  of  banquets  dwell  chiefly  on  the  color  of 
'dusky  loaf  of  'golden  yolks'  and  'lucent  s}Tops,'  and  on  the 
texture  of  'fruit  .  .  .  rough  or  smooth  rined'  or  of  'jellies 
soother  than  the  creamy  curd' !  Yet  no  one  will  deny  that 
the  poet  must  have  imagined  odors,  and  not  colors ,  when  he 
writes  in  the  fifth  stanza  of  the ''  Ode  to  a  Nightingale"  :  — 


Sense-ly pes  of  Imagination  23 

'I  cannot  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 

Nor  what  soft  incense  hangs  upon  the  boughs, 
But,  in  embalmed  darkness,  guess  each  sweet 

Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endows 
The  grass,  the  thicket,  and  the  fruit  tree  wild; 


And  mid-^^ay's  eldest  child, 
The  coming  musk-rosc,  full  of  dewy  wine." 

Besides  this  unintended  evidence  from  imaginative  writers 
we  have  well-attested  instances  of  the  smell  and  taste  imagina- 
tion, both  in  waking  experience  and  in  dreams,  of  well-trained 
observers.  An  inquiry  among  fifty  Wellesley  College  stu- 
dents, somewhat  trained  in  introspection,  disclosed  the  fact 
that  thirty-one  were  sure  that  they  could  imagine  the  odors 
of  certain  substances,  such  as  burning  tar,  burning  sulphur, 
and  mignonette. 

More  common  than  any  of  these  classes  of  concrete  imagi- 
nation is  that  to  which  we  ha\e  already  referred  as  the 
'mixed  type.'  The  imagination  of  any  object  is  likely,  in 
other  words,  to  include  elements  of  more  than  one  sense- 
order  :  it  is  not  wholly  visual  and  still  less  is  it  entirely  audi- 
tory or  tactual.  Either  the  visual  or  auditory  elements  may 
predominate,  l)Ut  the  imagination  —  of  a  dinner-party,  for 
example  —  is  rarely  a  mere  complex  of  the  colors  and  forms 
of  dresses,  faces,  candles,  flowers,  foods,  nor  yet  of  the  sounds 
of  conversation,  laughter,  and  service,  but  it  includes  both 
visual  and  au(Htory  images,  perhaps  with  a  pressure  image 
also  of  the  'feel'  of  linen  or  of  siher,  and  a  gustatory  or 
olfactory  image  of  the  taste  of  beef  or  the  odor  of  roses. 

Contrasted  with  all  these  classes  of  concrete  imagination 
are  the  verbal  types,  which  are  far  more  prevalent  than  any 


24  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

one,  save  the  ])sychologist,  realizes.  Tn  the  exj)ericnce  of 
many  people  these  altogether  crowd  out  concrete  imaginings. 
We  suppose  ourselves  to  be  imagining  the  Heraion  at  Argos, 
the  "Madonna  della  Sedia,"  or  Liszt's  "Hungarian  Rhap- 
sod}-,"  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  are  mainly  saying  to 
ourselves  the  words  'Heraion,'  'madonna,'  'rhapsody.'  Of 
course  this  is  an  artificial  state  of  affairs.  Words  are  con- 
ventional symbols,  not  instinctive  reactions;  they  play  no 
part  at  all  in  the  imaginative  life  of  animal  or  of  baby, 
and  little  part  in  that  of  the  savage.  The  civilized  being, 
however,  is  born  into  a  world  of  people  whose  most  char- 
acteristic activity  is  neither  eating,  walking,  nor  fighting,  but 
talking.  At  first,  through  pure  imitation,  and  afterwards 
because  he  recognizes  the  utility  of  language,  he  largely  occu- 
pies himself  with  words,  first  heard  and  spoken,  and  later 
read  and  written.  And  as  habits  fall  away  through  disuse, 
so,  little  by  little,  in  the  experience  of  most  of  us,  word-images 
take  the  place  of  concreter  images  of  color,  sound,  and  the 
like.  It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  on  the  immense  utility  of 
verbal  imagination,  for  we  are  already  victims  of  what  Mr. 
Garrison  calls  'the  ignorant  prejudice  in  favor  of  reading  and 
writing,'  and,  he  might  have  added,  'of  talking.'  Words 
serve  not  only  as  the  means  of  communication,  and  thus  as  the 
surest  method  of  social  development,  but  —  by  their  abstract, 
conventional  form  —  as  an  aid  to  rapid  memorizing  and  to 
clear  reasoning;  they  are  indispensable  parts  of  our  intel- 
lectual equipment;  yet  they  are  in  themselves  but  poor  and 
insignificant  experiences,  and  they  work  us  irreparable  harm 
if  they  banish,  from  the  life  of  our  imagination,  the  warm 
colors,  broad  spaces,  liquid  sounds,  and  subtle  fragrances 
which  might  enrich  and  widen  our  experience. 


Verbal  Imagination  25 

We  have  ample  proof  that  this  is  no  purely  fictitious  danger. 
Gallon's  most  significant  conclusion  from  his  statistical  study 
of  imagination  is  that  the  "faculty  of  seeing  pictures,  .  .  . 
if  ever  possessed  by  men  of  highly  generalized  and  abstract 
thought,  is  very  aj)t  to  be  lost  by  disuse."  Many  of  the  '  men 
of  science,'  whose  imagination  he  tested,  had  "no  more  no- 
tion" of  the  nature  of  visual  imagery  "than  a  color-blind 
man  .  .  .  has  of  the  nature  of  color.  '  It  is  only  by  a  figure 
of  speech,'"  one  of  them  says,  "'that  I  can  describe  my  rec- 
ollection of  a  scene  as  a  mental  image  that  I  can  see  with  my 
mind's  eye,  ...  I  do  not  see  it  .  .  .  any  more  than  a  man 
sees  the  thousand  lines  of  Sophokles  which  under  due  pressure 
he  is  ready  to  repeat.' "  Every  mixed  figure  is  in  truth  a  wit- 
ness to  the  common  lack  of  concrete  imagery.  The  earnest 
preacher  who  exhorted  his  hearers  to  water  the  sparks  of 
grace,  and  the  fervid  orator  who  bewailed  the  cup  of  Ireland's 
misery  as  'long  running  over,  but  not  yet  full,'  were,  of  course, 
without  the  visual  images  which  their  words  should  suggest. 
Doubtless,  most  of  their  hearers  received  these  astounding 
statements  without  a  quiver  of  amusement  —  not,  j)rimarily, 
because  they  lacked  a  sense  of  humor,  but  because  they  failed 
to  translate  the  words  into  visual  imagery. 

The  study  of  the  varying  forms  of  verbal  imagination 
discloses  the  fact  that,  like  the  forms  of  concrete  imagina- 
tion, they  belong  usually  to  a  visual,  an  auditory,  a  tactual, 
or  a  'mixed'  class,  though  they  may  conceivably  be  of  other 
sense-types.  The  good  visualizer  images  his  words  as  they 
are  printed  on  a  page,  reading  them  off,  sentence  by  sentence 
or  verse  by  verse,  recalling  the  precise  part  of  the  page  on  which 
a  given  word  or  sentence  appears.  Galton  tells  of  a  statesman 
who  sometimes  hesitates  in  the  midst  of  a  speech,  because 


26  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

plagued  by  the  image  of  his  manuscript  speech  with  its  origi- 
nal erasures  and  corrections.  Even  musicians  may  be  helped 
by  symbolic  imagery  and  may  play  by  mentally  reading  their 
scores.  Again,  verbal  imagination  may  be  of  words  as  heard ; 
and  such  masters  of  musical  verse  as  Sophokles,  Tennyson, 
and  Swinburne  must  have  auditory  verbal  imagery.  One 
may  'hear'  words  spoken  by  oneself  or  by  others,  one  may 
listen  in  imagination  to  conversations  between  different 
people,  or  one  may  recall  whole  scenes  of  a  play  in  the  char- 
acteristic intonations  of  different  actors.  '"When  I  write  a 
scene,'  said  Legouve  to  Scribe,*  'I  hear  but  you  sec.  In  each 
phrase  which  I  write,  the  voice  of  the  personage  who  speaks 
strikes  my  ear.  Vous  qui  etes  le  theatre  meme  your  actors 
walk,  gesticulate  before  your  eyes;  I  am  a  listener,  you  a 
spectator.^  'Nothing  more  true,' said  Scribe;  'do  you  know 
where  I  am  when  I  write  a  piece?  In  the  middle  of  the 
parterre.'" 

One's  verbal  imagery,  finally,  may  be  of  the  tactual-motor 
type;  one  may  imagine  oneself  as  speaking,  or,  less  often, 
as  writing  the  words.  A  simple  proof  of  the  frequent 
occurrence  of  these  motor  images  was  suggested  by  Dr. 
Strieker :  f  the  attempt  to  imagine  a  word  containing  several 
labials  —  such  a  word  as  'bob'  or  'pepper' — without  the 
faintest  imaged  or  actual  movement  of  the  lips.  Most  people 
will  be  unsuccessful  in  such  an  experiment,  which  brings  to 
light  the  presence,  in  verbal  imagining,  of  the  imagination 
or  perception  of  movements  of  the  throat  and  lips.  Even 
the  distinct  effort  to  visualize  words  may  result  in  tactual- 
motor  images.     James,  for  example,   "can  seldom  call   to 

*  Quoted  by  W.  James,  op.  cit..  Vol.  II.,  p.  60,  from  Binet. 

t  "Stuclien  iiber  die  Sprachvorstellungen."     Cf.  James,  Vol.  XL,  p.  63. 


or  THE 


OF        '^  J  Verbal  Imagination 


c 


^(roBNi^ 


mind  even  a  single  letter  of  the  alphabet  in  purely  retinal 
terms.  I  must  trace  the  letter,"  he  says,  "by  running  my 
mental  eye  over  its  contour." 

The  various  phenomena  of  aphasia,  the  cerebral  disease 
affecting  the  word-consciousness,  confirm  tlicse  results  of 
introspection.  They  show  that  verbal  imagery  is  impaired 
by  injury  to  the  visual,  to  the  auditory,  or  to  any  tactual- 
motor  centre,  or  by  injury  to  the  neurones  connecting  these 
areas,  and  that  corresponding  with  these  different  patho- 
logical conditions  there  may  be  independent  loss  of  words 
as  read,  as  heard,  as  spoken,  or  as  written. 

Several  general  conclusions  follow  from  the  study  of  the 
sense-orders  of  our  images:  the  impossibility,  first  of  all,  of 
supposing  that  any  normal  person  is  unimaginative.  Since 
imagination  is  not  of  necessity  an  artistic  impulse,  a  lofty 
soaring  in  empyrean  isolation  from  the  everyday  life,  but 
merely,  as  we  have  seen,  the  imaging  of  colors,  sounds,  pres- 
sures, odors,  tastes,  or  even  of  words,  it  follows  that  every- 
body who  is  conscious  of  anything  whatever,  in  its  absence, 
is  in  so  far  imaginative.  When  I  am  conscious  of  the  hat 
which  I  yesterday  bought  or  of  the  dinner  which  I  shall  eat 
to-day,  no  less  than  when  I  muse  upon  the  picture  I  shall 
paint  or  of  the  world  I  shall  discover,  I  am,  in  a  strict  sense, 
imaginative.  Our  study,  furthermore,  makes  it  clear  that 
almost  everybody  is  capable  of  inciting  himself  to  vivid  and 
accurate  imagination  of  one  sort  or  another.  If,  try  as  he 
will,  the  colors  are  washed  out  and  the  outlines  indistinct  in 
his  visual  images  of  an  opera  or  of  a  country  outlook,  he  may 
hear,  in  imagination,  the  varying  parts  of  strings  and  horns 
in  the  orchestral  prelude,  the  melodies  of  the  songs  and  the 
harmonies  of  the  choruses,  or  the  liquid  bird-notes,  lapping 


28  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

waves,  and  murnuiring  leaves  of  the  summer  afternoon. 
Even  the  minor  image-types  may  be  well  developed,  as  the 
experiences  of  many  defectives  show.  Helen  Keller,  who 
has  been  blind  and  deaf  from  earliest  childhood,  so  that  she 
can  have  neither  visual  nor  auditory  imagination,  none  the 
less  imagines  with  peculiar  vividness  and  detail  pressures, 
movements,  and  even  tastes  and  smells.  A  passage  from 
her  "  Story  of  My  Life  "  illustrates  this  lively  and  accurate 
imagining  and  may  fitly  close  this  chapter :  — 

"Everything,"  she  says,  "that  could  hum,  or  buzz,  or  sing 
had  a  part  in  my  education  —  noisy-throated  frogs,  katydids, 
and  crickets  held  in  my  hand  till  they  trilled  their  reedy 
note.  I  felt  the  bursting  cotton  bolls  and  fingered  their  soft 
fibre  and  fuzzy  seeds  .  .  .,  I  felt  the  low  soughing  of  the 
wind  through  the  corn  stalks,  the  silky  rustling  of  the  long 
leaves,  and  the  indignant  snort  of  my  pony  ...  as  we  put 
the  bit  in  his  teeth.  ...  Ah,  me!  How  well  I  remember 
the  spicy,  clovery  smell  of  his  breath." 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    SENSATIONAL    ELEMENTS    OF    PERCEPTION    AND 
IMAGINATION 

In  the  second  section  of  the  preceding  chapter,  imagi- 
nation —  and,  by  implication,  perception  —  have  been  de- 
scribed accorcHng  to  sensational  content.  But  the  sensational 
elements  themselves  have  been  only  incidentally  considered. 
To  repair  this  neglect,  it  will  be  well  to  recur  to  our  initial 
example  —  I  am  writing  with  a  blue  pen  on  a  warm  summer's 
day  within  sound  of  a  gardener's  whistling.  My  present 
consciousness  includes,  therefore,  the  experiences  of  blueness, 
of  whiteness,  of  tone,  of  warmth,  and  of  pressure.  These 
sensational  elements  of  my  consciousness  maybe  studied  in 
any  order.     In  this  chapter,  the  first  to  be  considered  are 

I.   Elemental  Visual  Experiences 
a.   enumkration 
I  {a)  Visual  Qualities:  Experiences  of  Color 

Here  we  come  at  once  upon  a  curious  fact.  An  elemental 
consciousness  of  color,  the  experience  of  green,  for  example, 
is  utterly  indefinable.  I'^.vcry  normal  person  realizes,  yet  no 
one  can  tell,  what  it  is.  I  may  say,  "I  am  conscious  of  green 
in  looking  at  the  trees;"  or,  "my  consciousness  of  green  is 
produced  by  a  mixture  of  blue  and  yellow  pigments;"  but 
these  are  statements  about  the  consciousness  of  green,  not 

29 


30  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

descrii)tions  of  it.  In  truth,  such  descriptions  arc  inherently 
impossible  because  description,  or  definition,  invohcs  an 
analysis  of  content,  whereas  an  elemental  experience  is  irre- 
ducible, that  is,  further  unanalyzablc. 

It  follows  that  very  little  may  be  said,  in  terms  of  mere 
description,  about  the  sensational  color-qualities,  that  is, 
the  elemental  kinds  of  color-consciousness.  At  least  four 
sensational  color-qualities  (that  is,  kinds  of  color  experience) 
arc  admitted  by  almost  all  psychologists  as  unanalyzablc,  or 
Red  Yellow    elemental.     These  four  are  the  con- 

sciousness of  red,  of  yellow,  of  green, 
and  of  blue ;  they  are  often  described, 
also,  as  'principal  colors,'  and  for  the 
following  reason :  If  we  have  a  succes- 
sion of  color-experiences  in  the  spec- 
trum order,  we  are  certain  to  recognize 


Orange 


Blue  Green    that  thc  scrics  naturally  divides  itself 

Fig.  I.— The  Color  Square,    j^to  four  shorter  scrics,  consciousness 

Adapted     from     G.      E.  _  ^ 

Muiier.  of  red  to  consciousness  of  yellow,  con- 

sciousness of  yellow  to  consciousness  of  green,  and  so  on; 
and  that  the  experiences  nearest  to  each  end  term  differ 
from  it  by  being  like  one  or  other  of  the  contiguous  end 
terms.  For  example,  my  consciousness  of  yellowish  orange 
differs  from  that  of  yellow  by  being  like  both  the  conscious- 
ness of  red  and  the  consciousness  of  yellow ;  whereas  my  con- 
sciousness of  olive  differs  from  that  of  yellow  by  being  like 
both  the  consciousness  of  yellow  and  the  consciousness  of 
green.  We  rightly,  therefore,  distinguish  between  the  ele- 
mental experiences  of  red,  yellow,  green,  and  blue,  and  the 
other  color-experiences,  each  of  which  is  like  two  of  the  ele- 
ments or  'turning-points'  of  the  color-square.     Some  psy- 


Elemental   Visual  Experiences  31 

chologists  believe  that  only  tlic  four  '  ])rinci])ar  color-qualities 
are  elemental  and  that  all  the  others  are  analyzablc  into  two 
or  more  of  the  four.  Other  i>sychologists  hold  that  there 
arc  as  many  elemental  as  distinguishable  color-experiences. 
Into  the  details  of  this  rather  academic  discussion  we  need 
not  enter. 

(b)   Visual  Qualities:  Experiences  of  Colorless  Light 

Besides  our  experiences  of  color  —  of  red,  green,  blue,  and 
the  like  —  we  have  also  the  introspectively  different  expe- 
riences of  colorless  light,  that  is,  of  white,  gray,  and  black. 
There  is  wide  diversity  among  psychologists  in  their  account 
of  the  relation  of  these  experiences.  Some  reckon  the  con- 
sciousness of  gray  as  a  complex  experience  analyzable  into 
that  of  white  and  of  black  ;  others  hold  that  there  is  but  one 
colorless  light  ciuality  —  the  consciousness  of  gray,  and  that 
the  exjjeriences  of  white  and  of  black  are  really  experiences  of 
light  and  dark  gray.*  A  third  view  enumerates  among  the 
colorless  light  elements  the  consciousness  of  white,  of  black, 
and  of  all  distinguishable  grays.  A  fourth  view  recognizes 
three  colorless  light  qualities  (the  consciousness  of  white,  of 
])lack,  and  of  gray),  explaining  the  differences  in  sensations 
of  gray  as  distinctions  in  intensity.  It  is  unnecessary  and 
perhai)s  impossible  to  choose  between  these  accounts.  The 
important  ])oint  is  to  note  the  evident  distinction  between  the 
'colorless-light  qualities,'  the  consciousness  of  white,  of  gray, 
and  of  black  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  'color-qualities'  on  the 
other.  Significant  also  is  the  fact  that  though  one  may  have 
the  colorless-light  consciousness  without  the  color-conscious- 

*  For  experiment,  rf.  Sanford,  "Experimental  Psychology,"  140a.  (Ref- 
erences througliout  the  footnotes  to  "Sanford"  are  to  this  book;  and  the 
numerals  refer  to  his  numbered  experiments.) 


32 


A   First  Book  in  Psychology 


ncss  —  in  other  words,  lhoiifj;h  one  may  see  white,  gray,  or 
black  untinged  by  color  —  one  is  never  conscious  of  color  with- 
out colorless  light.  In  the  terms  of  physics :  we  never  see  an 
absolutely  pure  or,  as  it  has  been  called,  a  'saturated'  blue  or 
red.  Most  of  our  colors,  indeed,  are  decidedly  '  unsaturated,' 
that  is  to  say,  they  seem  to  be  mixed  with  colorless  light. 


All  told,  we  are  capable  of  an  indefinitely  large  number 
of  visual  experiences.     Besides  the  consciousness  of  colorless 

light  we  have  first  (i)  the 
principal  color-qualities;  next 
(2)  experiences  of  hue  —  the 
consciousness  of  greenish- 
blue,  for  example  —  of  which 
each  is  like  two  of  the  princi- 
pal color-elements;  (3)  expe- 
riences of  '  tint'  —  such  as  the 
consciousness  of  straw-color 
or  pink  —  of  which  each  is 
like  some  consciousness  of 
color  (or  of  hue)  and  the 
consciousness  of  light  gray 
or  white ;  and  (4)  experiences 
of  'shade' — for  example, 
that  of  bottle-green  —  each 
of  which  resembles  both  the  consciousness  of  color  or  hue 
and  that  of  dark  gray  or  black.  An  admirable  way  in  which 
to  represent  to  ourselves  this  wealth  of  our  visual  experience 
is  by  the  figure  known  as  the  color  j^yramid.*     The  base  of 


BLACK 

Fio.  2.  —  The  Color  Pyramid.     (From 
Titchener,  with  aUered  wording.*) 


*  Cf.  Titchener,  "Primer  of  Psychology,"  189S,  §  17,  for  the  first  form 
of   the   color-pvramid;    "  E.xperimental    PsychoIo<^y,    Instructor's    Manual, 


Elemental   Visual  Experiences  33 

this  symbol  represents  the  exj^iericnces  of  most  saturated 
color  —  those  in  whieh  there  is  least  consciousness  of  white, 
of  gray,  or  of  black.  Its  rectangular  form  suggests  the 
fact  lliat  tlic  consciousness  of  red,  of  yellow,  of  green,  and  of 
blue  arc,  as  has  been  shown,  turning-points  in  the  color- 
quality  series.  The  dotted  vertical  represents  the  ex- 
])erienccs  of  white,  of  gray,  of  black.  Toward  the  top, 
the  surface  of  tlic  pyramid  represents  the  experiences  of 
pale  green,  of  straw-yellow,  of  sky-blue,  and  of  pink ;  toward 
the  bottom  the  experiences  of  indigo-blue,  of  l)rown,  of 
dark  red,  and  of  bottle-green,  are  represented.  "All  these 
tones,"  to  quote  Titchener  again,  "are  the  most  saturated 
possible,  the  most  coloured  colours  of  their  kind,"  l)ut  "  if 
we  peel  the  figure"  (like  an  onion),  "leaving  the  black  and 
white  poles  untouched,  we  get  precisely  what  we  had  before, 
save  that  all  the  colour  tones  are  less  saturated,  lie  so  much 
nearer  to  tlie  neutral  tones." 

2.     Visual  Intensities:   Experiences  of  Brightness 

One  cannot  be  conscious  of  a  color,  a  red  or  a  blue,  for  ex- 
ample, or  of  a  colorless  light,  a  white  or  black  or  gray,  with- 
out being  at  the  same  time  conscious  of  brightness.  The 
experience  of  brightness  as  well  as  that  of  color  or  of  gray, 
is  a  distinct  and  unanalyzaljlc  element  of  consciousness.  It 
cannot,  of  course,  be  separated  from  the  consciousness  of 
colorless  light  with  which  it  is  coml^ined,  but  it  may  be  jier- 
fectly  distinguished  from  it.  The  visual  intensities  are,  as 
every  one  admits,  indefinite  in  number.  They  are  further- 
more distinguished  from  sensational  qualities  of  color  and  of 

Qualitative,"  p.  5,  for  the  quoted  sentences;  and  "  Experimental  Psychology, 
Student's  Manual,  Qualitative,"  p.  3,  for  the  outline  of  the  figure. 
n 


34  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

colorless  li<j;ht,  by  their  capacity  for  direct  and  simple  serial 
arrangement.*  ^^  liut,  ])artly  because  our  practical  and 
aesthetic  interests  are  concerneil  only  with  extremes  of  in- 
tensity, we  are  not  interested  in  naming  the  experiences  of 
brightness  as  wc  arc  in  naming  those  of  color.  For  these 
reasons,  the  visual  intensity-elements  are  estimated  by  com- 
parison with  each  other,  and  not  with  reference  to  absolute 
standards;  and  the  intensity-series  can  be  indicated  only  b}- 
words :  "  bright  —  brighter  —  still  more  bright,  etc." 

3.     Visual  Elements  of  Exiensity 

Always  along  with  our  consciousness  of  color  we  experience 
a  certain  bigness,  or  extensity.*  ^^  This,  too,  is  an  elemental 
sensational  consciousness,  an  unanalyzable  experience  quite 
distinct  from  every  other.  In  the  words  of  James,  it  is  "  an 
element  in  each  sensation,  just  as  intensity  is.  The  latter 
every  one  will  admit  to  be  a  distinguishable  though  not 
separable  ingredient.  ...  In  like  manner  extensity,  being 
an  entirely  peculiar  kind  of  feeling  indescribable  except  in 
terms  of  itself,  and  inseparable  in  actual  experience  from 
some  sensational  quality  which  it  must  accompany,  can  it- 
self receive  no  other  name  than  that  of  sensational  element.''^ 

b.     THE    ATTEMPTED    EXPLANATION    OF    VISUAL    EXPERIENCES 

I.   The  Physical  and  Physiological  Conditions  of  the 
Consciousness  of  Color  and  Colorless  Light 

(a)   The  Physical  Conditions  of  the  Visual  Consciousness 

We  have  so  far  enumerated  and,  though  roughly  and  par- 
tially, have  classified  our  sensational  visual  experiences.     We 

*  All  numerical  exponents  refer  to  Appendix,  Section  III.,  pp.  285  ff. 


ElemcnlaJ   Visual  Experiences  35 

have  next  to  seek  some  exjjlanation  of  them.  A  brief  reflec- 
tion will  con\ince  us  that  this  ex|)lanation  cannot  be  in  terms 
of  psychology,  for  very  evidently  it  does  not  depend  on  me 
whether  my  present  experience  includes  consciousness  of 
green-  or  of  blue,  of  bright  or  of  dull,  )  The  accepted  expla- 
nation of  every  sort  of  sensational  consciousness  is  in  terms 
of  ])hysics  and  physiology,  and  the  explanation  of  the  color- 
consciousness  is  somewhat  as  follows :  I  have  the  sensational 
consciousness  of  green,  let  us  say,  because  green  light,  namely, 
ether  vibrations  nearly  six  hundred  billions  to  the  second,  are 
refracted  by  the  lenses  of  my  eye  to  the  retina,  and  there 
excite  a  physiological  process  which  is  propagated  by  the  optic 
nerve  to  the  occipital  lobe  of  my  brain.  Thus  the  physical 
condition  of  our  consciousness  of  color  is  ether-vibrations. 
The  ether  is  described  by  physicists  as  an  '  incompressible 
medium'  of  extreme  tenuity  and  elasticity  which  is  supposed 
to  pervade  all  space  and  to  penetrate  within  the  molecules  of 
material  substances.  So  impalpable  a  material  has  never 
been  actually  observed,  but  its  existence  is  hypothetically 
assumed,  because  it  offers  the  only  plausible  explanation  of 
many  physical  phenomena.  Because  the  ether  pervades 
all  bodies,  it  must  be  thrown  into  motion  by  their  vibrating 
molecules,  and  its  periodic,  transverse  vibrations  are  assumed 
to  be  the  physical  stimuli  which  condition  the  sensational 
qualities  of  color.  Thus  the  colors  vary  according  to  the 
number  of  ether  vibrations  in  a  given  time.  The  slowest 
vibrations,  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  billion  each  second, 
condition  the  retinal  process  which  accompanies  the  sensa- 
tional quality  '  red ' ;  and  the  swiftest  vibrations,  about  seven 
hundred  and  eighty  billion  each  second,  form  the  physical 
stimulus  to   'violet.'     The    following    table    includes    these 


36 


A  First  Book  in  Psychology 


figures  for  five  colors,  naming  also  the  length  of  the  cthcr- 
wavcs,  that  is,  the  tlistance  from  wave  to  wave.  It  is  evident 
that  the  longer  the  waves  the  smaller  the  numl)cr  which  can 
be  propagated  in  a  given  time :  — 


Consciousness 

OF 

Fraunhofer 
Lines 

No.  Vibrations 
PER  Second  (n) 

Wave-lengths  (A) 

Red 

B 

450  billions 

687+  milliontiis  of  a  millimeter 

Yellow 

D 

526  billions 

588+  millionths  of  a  millimeter 

Green 

E 

589  billions 

526      millionths  of  a  millimeter 

Blue 

F 

640  billions 

484      millionths  of  a  millimeter 

Violet 

H 

790  billions 

392+  millionths  of  a  millimeter 

The  external  conditions  of  the  consciousness  of  color- 
less light  are  more  complicated.  Two  sorts  of  relation 
between  stimulus  and  consciousness  must  be  distinguished ; 
the  consciousness  of  white,  gray,  or  black  is  due  either 
(i)  to  a  mixture  of  colored  lights  or  (2)  to  a  single  colored 
light. 

(i)  Not  every  combination  of  colored  lights  produces  the 
colorless-light  consciousness,  but  for  every  colored  light  an- 
other may  be  found  such  that,  if  the  two  be  mixed  and  if  they 
fall  simultaneously  on  the  retina,  a  consciousness  of  colorless 
light  will  result.  Color-stimuli  which  stand  in  this  relation 
to  each  other  are  called  complementary.  Furthermore,  a 
mixture  of  three,  of  four,  and  of  more  color-stimuli,  rightly 
chosen,  will  produce  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light; 
and  daylight,  which  is  yjhysically  a  compound  of  ether-waves 
of  all  wave-lengths,  of  course  has  the  same  effect.*     (2)   But 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  op.cit.,  148c  and  149a;  Titchener,  "Ex- 
perimental Psychology,  Student's  Manual,  (Qualitative,"  §8.  (Footnote 
references  to  "Titchener"  are  toJhis  book.) 


Elcniciilal   Visual  Experiences  37 

the  colorless-light  consciousness  results  not  only  from  mixture 
of  colored  liglUs;  it  is  sometimes  excited  by  a  single  stimulus. 
The  three  most  important  cases  in  which  one  colored  light, 
falling  on  the  retina,  is  seen  as  gray  are  (a)  in  the  faint  light 
or  twilight  when,  as  the  saying  is,  "all  cats  are  gray";  (b)  in 
color-blind  eyes  ^^  to  which  some  one  color  (most  often  red 
or  green)  or  even  all  colors  appear  as  gray ;  *  (c)  when  the 
colored  light  falls  on  the  peripheral  or  outer  edge  of  the  retina. 
If,  for  instance,  a  small  colored  object  be  brought  toward  the 
field  of  vision  from  the  right  side,  while  the  left  eye  is  closed 
and  the  riglit  eye  firmly  fixated  on  something  directly  in  front 
of  the  face,  it  will  be  found  that  the  colored  object  at  first 
seems  gray,  and  that  it  is  seen  in  its  true  color  only  as  it 
approaches  the  centre  of  the  eye.f 

(b)  The  Physiological  Conditions  of  the  Consciousness 
of  Color  and  Colorless  Light 

Even  the  attempt  to  offer  a  physical  explanation  of  our  vis- 
ual sensations  has  led  us,  thus,  to  refer  to  physiological  retinal 
conditions.  We  must  now  undertake  a  completer  enumera- 
tion of  these  physiological  conditions  of  vision.  And  it  will 
be  convenient  to  describe  together  the  conditions  of  the  color- 
consciousness  and  the  colorless-light  consciousness. 

In  brief,  the  main  physiological  conditions  of  vision  are  the 
following:  (i)  A  specific  retinal  process;  (2)  an  excitation  of 
the  oi)tic  nerve  which  connects  retina  and  brain;  (3)  an  ex- 
citation of  the  visual  1)rain  centre  —  pr()ba1)ly  the  cortex  of 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanfon],  135. 

t  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  137 «;  Titcluiur,  §(>;  C.  E.  Seashore, 
"Elementary  Experiments  in  Psychology,"  Chajjter  III.  (Footnote  ref- 
erences to  "Seashore"  arc  to  this  book.) 


o 


8  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 


the  occii)ital  lobe.  Besides  these  antecedent,  or  condition- 
ing, physiological  j)rocesses,  there  occur  always  (4)  accom- 
panying and  following  nio\ements  of  e\es  and  head. 

In  considering  the  nature  of  the  retinal  process  which 
excites  color- vision,  it  is  necessary  to  have  in  mind  the  struc- 
ture of  the  human  eye/''  Roughly  speaking,  it  is  a  sort  of 
sjjherical  camera  obscura,  protected  by  a  shutter,  the  eyelid, 
and  containing  a  compound  lens  whose  refractiveness  (or 
ability  to  focus  light-rays)  changes,  so  that  clear  images  now 
of  near  and  now  of  far  objects  may  be  thrown  upon  its 
plate,  the  retina.  More  literally,  the  eyeball  is  a  sphere, 
moved  by  six  strong  muscles,  composed  of  three  membranous 
layers  enclosing  certain  transparent  substances,  and  pierced, 
from  the  rear,  by  the  optic  nerve.  The  outside  layer  of  the 
eyeball  is  an  opaque,  whitish  membrane,  the  sclerotic,  which 
in  its  forward  part  becomes  transparent  and  is  called  the 
cornea.  The  forward  portion  of  the  second,  or  choroid, 
coating  of  the  eyeball  is  the  iris,  which  we  see  as  the  *  blue ' 
or  '  brown '  of  the  eye.  It  is  a  sort  of  '  automatic  diaphragm ' 
with  an  opening,  the  pupil,  which  grows  larger  in  faint  light 
and  smaller  in  bright  light.  Behind  the  iris  is  the  crystalline 
lens,  most  important  of  the  transparent  substances  of  the 
eye.y  By  an  automatic  muscular  contraction  it  becomes  more 
refractive  when  near  objects  are  fixated.  The  third  coating, 
the  retina,"  covers  the  posterior  two-thirds  of  the  inner  sur- 
face of  the  eyeball.  It  is  composed  of  several  layers,  and  the 
ninth  of  these  layers  consists  of  minute  structures,  of  two  types, 
known  as  rods  and  cones.  These  are  so  arranged  that  there 
are  many  cones  and  few  rods  in  the  centre,  and  many  rods  on 
the  outlying  portions  of  the  retina.  The  rays  of  light  from 
an  object  are  refracted  by  the  lenses  of  the  eye,  pierce  through 


Elemental   Visual  Experiences  39 

the  inner  layers  of  the  retina,  and  exeite  the  rod  and  cone 
layer.  The  activity  of  rods  and  cones  stimulates  the  optic 
nerve,  and  the  optic  nerve,  in  turn,  transmits  this  excitation 
to  the  occipital  lobes  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres. 

The  retinal  processes  which  condition  the  color  and  the 
colorless-light  consciousness  are  very  probably  the  following :  ^- 
(i)  Colored  light  —  for  example,  red  light  (that  is,  ether  waves 
four  hundred  and  fifty  billion  to  the  second,  six  hundred  and 
ninety  millionths  of  a  millimeter  long)  —  partially  decomposes 
a  chemical  substance  on  the  cones  of  the  retina.  There  arc 
four  possible  phases  of  the  decomposition  of  this  cone-sub- 
stance, and  corresponding  to  them  are  the  sensational  ex- 
periences of  red,  of  yellow,  of  green,  and  of  bluc.'^  (2)  A 
mixture  of  colored  lights  totally  decomposes  this  same  cone- 
substance,  and  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light  follows. 
(3)  The  consciousness  of  colorless  light  due  to  a  single  color- 
stimulus  is  excited  by  the  decomposition  of  a  similar,  but  less 
comj)lex,  chemical  substance  found  on  the  rods  of  the  retina. 
Any  light  stimulus  suffices  to  break  up  this  substance,  and  it 
is  decomposable  not  in  separate  stages  but  only  all  at  once. 
The  three  cases,  already  named,  in  which  colored  light  excites 
colorless-light  consciousness  are  thus  explained  :  (a)  When, 
as  in  twilight,  the  colorless-light  stimulus  is  very  faint,  it 
lacks  the  intensity  necessary  to  excite  the  processes  of  the 
cone-substance,  whereas  the  rod-substance  is  jiarticularly 
sensitive  to  faint  light."  (b)  When  a  colored  light  falls  on  the 
outlying,  or  perij^heral,  part  of  the  retina,  it  excites  only  the 
rod-substance,  since  this  i)art  of  the  retina  contains  no  cones. 
(V)  In  partial  color-blindness  the  cones  of  the  retina  may  be 
^supposed  to  be  only  partly  developed,  and  the  cone-substance 
to  be  decomposable  in  only  two  of  the  normal  four  stages. 


40  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

In  total  color-blindness  (if  due  to  retinal  and  not  to  brain 
conditions)  it  may  be  supi)osed  either  tliat  the  retina  contains 
only  rods,  and  not  cones,  or  that  the  cone-substance  is  as 
undeveloped  as  that  on  the  rods.^^ 

2.    The  Physical  and  Physiological  Conditions  of  Visual 
Brightness  and  Exlcnsity 

By  a  little  amplification  this  account  of  physical  and  physio- 
logical processes  may  be  expanded  so  as  to  explain  also  the 
consciousness  of  brightness  and  of  visual  extensity.  The 
visual  qualities  are  conditioned  by  the  length,  and  the  cor- 
responding number  per  second,  of  the  ether  waves;  the  visual 
intensities,  that  is,  the  brightnesses,  are  conditioned  by  the 
wave  amplitudes;  the  visual  extensities,  or  bignesses,  are 
conditioned  presumably  by  the  diffusion  of  the  waves  in  space. 
The  physiological  conditions  of  these  elemental  visual  ex- 
periences are  probably  the  following:  The  'qualities'  (ex- 
periences of  color  and  of  colorless  lights)  are  conditioned  by 
the  mode  of  the  retinal  excitation  (partial  or  total  decompo- 
sition of  a  retinal  substance) ,  whereas  visual  intensities  are 
conditioned  by  the  degree  of  excitation ;  and  visual  extensities 
are  conditioned  by  the  number  of  nerve-elements  excited.^** 

It  must  be  noted,  in  conclusion,  that  color  sensations  stand 
in  more  constant  relation  to  physiological  than  to  physical 
conditions.  The  phenomena  of  color  contrast  offer  an  ad- 
mirable illustration.^"  If  one  look  fixedly  for  ten  to  twenty 
seconds  at  an  illuminated  green  window  and  then  look  off 
at  a  neutral  background,  the  background  will  appear  not  white 
or  gray,  but  pinkish-purple;  of,  if  the  illuminated  window 
is  blue,  the  background  will  appear  as  yellow.     That  is. 


Elemental  Auditory  Experiences  41 

if  a  brightly  colored  object  has  been  fixated,  gray  light  fall- 
ing on  the  same  part  of  the  retina  results  in  the  complemen- 
tary color  sensation  —  a  case  of  successive  contrast.*  Here 
the  objective  stimulus,  colorless  light,  occasions  a  sensation 
not  of  gray  but  of  a  color.  The  explanation,  in  terms  of  the 
special  case,  is  the  following:  the  green  light  has  exhausted, 
temporarily,  a  j)art  of  the  photochemical  substance  in  the 
retina,  so  that  the  process  normally  resulting  in  sensation  of 
green  does  not  follow.  When,  therefore,  the  retina  is  stimu- 
lated by  colorless  light  (a  comljination  of  ether-waves  of  all 
\ibration  rates) ,  the  green  constituent  of  the  white  light  is 
inetTectivc,  and  its  remaining  constituents  excite  the  processes 
which  condition  the  consciousness  of  purple. 

Cases  of  simultaneous  contrast  also  occur:  that  is,  gray 
objects,  seen  on  a  colored  background,  appear  to  be  of  color 
complementary  to  the  background. f 

II.    Elemental  Auditory  Experiences 

a.    ENUMERATION 

We  have  so  far  analyzed  into  its  visual  elements  my  j)cr- 
ception  of  the  moment.  But  I  am  a  hearing  as  well  as  a 
seeing  self:  I  am  listening,  it  will  be  remembered,  to  "The 
Road  to  Mandalay"  whistled  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
lawn-mower ;  and  my  experience  includes  at  least  one  tonal 
quality,  my  consciousness  of  a  pitch,  say  C,  and  a  second  au- 
ditory experience,  perha[)s  elemental  —  my  consciousness  of  a 
whirring  noise.     The  consciousness  of  pitch  is  the  character- 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanforrl,  124;  Seashore,  Chapter  I.;  Titrhcner, 
§  II,  Kxps.  (7)  and  (S). 

t  Cf.  Sanford,  152,  /»,  c,  d;  Seashore,  Chapter  II.;  Tilchener,  §  lo, 
especially  E.xps.  (i),  (2),  (3). 


42  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

istic  factor  of  my  consciousness  that  a  tone  is  high  or  low,  that 
a  voice  is  soprano  or  alto.  The  most  notable  character  of 
the  pitch-qualities  (experiences  of  ])itch)  is  their  capacity 
for  arrangement  in  recurring  series,  the  octaves.  The  num- 
ber of  these  tonal  qualities  (of  pitch)  is  variously  stated.  On 
the  ground  that  the  trained  hearer  can  distinguish  about 
eleven  thousand  different  tones,  most  psychologists  assume 
an  equal  number  of  pitch-qualities.  But  on  the  ground  of  the 
close  resemblance  between  a  tone  and  its  octave  it  has  been 
urged  that  there  are  only  as  many  pitch-qualities  as  there  are 
distinguishable  elements  in  an  octave.*  ^^ 

Psychologists  are  not  agreed  about  the  nature  of  our  con- 
sciousness of  noise.  Many  teach  that  it  is  a  mere  conglomer- 
ate of  many  pitch-qualities ;  and  in  favor  of  this  view  it  may 
be  urged  that  in  most  if  not  all  noises  —  in  the  roar  of  the 
streets,  and  in  the  hum  of  insects  —  we  detect  what  we  call 
pitch.  Other  psychologists  hold  that  a  consciousness  of 
noise,  even  when  complex,  includes  some  characteristic  noise- 
quality  —  as,  for  example,  the  consciousness  of  puff,  of  thud, 
or  of  rumble. t  These  alleged  noise-qualities  have  been 
distinguished  as  continuous  or  momentary,  but  have  been, 
on  the  whole,  insufficiently  studied.  On  the  other  hand, 
experiences  of  pitch  have  been  the  object  of  minute  consid- 
eration as  forming  an  important  factor  of  the  aesthetic  con- 
sciousness. 

The  elemental  consciousness  of  a  sound-quality,  a  pitch 
or  a  noise,  is  always  fused,  or  combined,  with  the  elemental 
experience  of  an  auditory  intensity,  or  loudness:  that  is, 
one  is  conscious  of  every  sound  as  more  or  less  loud  or  soft. 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  67-6S;    Titchener,  §  12  (i). 

t  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  65;    Titchener,  §  12,  (2)  and  (3). 


Elemental  Auditory  Experiences  43 

And  according  to  many  (though  not  to  all)  j)sychologists, 
the  consciousness  of  quality  and  of  intensity  are  fused  also 
with  that  of  auditory  extcnsity,  or  bigness.^"  This  auditory 
extensity,  or  voluminousness,  is  the  {)redominant  factor  in  our 
distinction  of  one  instrument  from  another  —  'cello  from 
organ,  or  llute  from  violin  —  when  both  are  playing  at  the 
same  pitch  and  intensity. 

To  sum  up  the  results  of  the  preceding  paragraphs:  the 
following  auditory,  sensational  elements  of  consciousness 
occur:  (i)  auditory  qualities  (pitches,  or  tonal  qualities  and, 
perhaps,  noise-qualities) ;  (2)  loudnesses,  or  auditory  intensi- 
ties; (3)  auditory  extensities.  A  fusion  of  loudness  and 
voluminousness  with  predominating  pitch-quality  is  a  tone. 
A  fusion  of  loudness  and  voluminousness  with  noise-quality 
is  a  noise.  (Or,  if  the  occurrence  of  specific  noise-qualities 
is  denied,  a  noise  may  be  defined  as  a  complex  of  tones  with- 
out any  one  prolonged  or  emphasized  pitch-quality.) 

b.     ATTEMPTED   EXPLANATION    OF    ELEMENTAL    AUDITORY 
EXPERIENCES 

The  main  ex])lanation  of  the  specific  nature  of  the  auditory 
elements  of  consciousness  is,  once  more,  physical  and  physio- 
logical. 

I.    TJie  Physical  Conditions  of  Auditory  Sensation 

We  shall  find  it  convenient  to  consider  the  physical,  and 
therefore  secondary  and  remote,  conditions  of  pitch  and 
noise-quality,  before  regarding  the  more  immediate  physio- 
logical antecedents.  The  physical  condition  of  the  auditory 
consciousness  in  general  may  be  described  as  oscillation  of  air- 
particles,  producing  rarefactions  and  condensations  of  the 
air.     A  rarefaction  followed  bv  a  condensation  is  called  an 


44  -^   First  Book  in  Psychology 

atmospheric  wave,  {a)  The  consciousness  of  pitch  is,  in  all 
probability,  occasioned  by  a  succession  of  simple  and  regular 
atmospheric  waves.  The  experience  of  noise  is  probably 
due  either  to  a  momentary  unperiodic  vibration,  or  to  a  com- 
bination of  air- waves  of  nearly  identical  length  —  for  example, 
to  the  complex  of  air-waves  which  are  set  into  vibration  when 
one  simultaneously  strikes  a  great  number  of  piano  keys. 
Different  qualities  of  pitch  are  found  by  experiment  to  cor- 
respond to  the  varying  length  of  the  atmospheric  waves. 
The  swifter  the  atmospheric  vibrations,  that  is,  the  greater  the 
number  and  the  shorter  the  length  of  the  air-waves  in  any 
secondof  time,  the  higher  is  the  pitch-quality;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  slower  the  vibrations,  that  is,  the  fewer  and  longer 
the  air-waves  in  a  second,  the  lower  or  deeper  is  the  pitch- 
quality.  This  is  the  principle  on  which  all  stringed  instru- 
ments are  constructed.  The  shorter  strings  of  the  piano  are 
struck  to  produce  its  higher  notes ;  and  the  violinist's  finger 
divides  his  string  to  obtain  from  the  swifter  air- vibrations, 
propagated  by  the  motion  of  each  half,  a  tone  an  octave  higher 
than  that  produced  by  the  slower  vibration  of  the  entire  length. 
As,  therefore,  a  definite  number  of  ether-vibrations  corre- 
sponds with  each  experience  of  color,  so  each  consciousness  of 
pitch  has  its  air- vibration  number :  the  consciousness  of  low  c, 
for  example  (in  what  is  called  the  small  octave) ,  is  produced, 
through  the  excitation  of  nerve-endings  and  brain-cells,  by 
one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  vibrations;  and  that  of  its 
octave,  c',  is  excited  by  exactly  twice  as  many,  or  two  hundred 
and  fifty-six  vibrations,  ih)  The  amplitude  of  an  atmos- 
pheric wave,  that  is,  the  length  of  the  extreme  excursion  (one 
way  or  other)  of  each  air-particle  is  the  condition  of  our  con- 
sciousness of  sound-intensity;    and  the  wave  diffusion  (the 


Elemental  Auditory  Experiences  45 

number  of  waves  of  given  length  and  amjilitude)  probably 
explains  our  consciousness  of  sound-cxtensity. 

But  these  physical  ])henomena  are  conditions  of  the  audi- 
tory consciousness  only  indirectly  as  they  bring  about  physi- 
ological processes. 

2.    The  Physiological  Conditions  of  Auditory  Sensation 

Air-waves  pass  from  the  outer  ear/**  through  a  short  tube, 
and  strike  upon  a  stretched  membrane  (the  tympanic  mem- 
brane) at  the  entrance  to  the  middle  ear.  This  membrane 
is  thus  thrown  into  \ibration  and  transmits  its  motion  to  a 
series  of  three  small  bones,  which  serve  to  transform  ampli- 
tude into  strength  of  vibration.  The  foot  of  the  '  stirrup,' 
or  inmost  of  these  bones,  fits  into  an  opening  in  the  inner  ear ; 
and  the  inner  ear  is  a  complex  of  bony  tubes,  lined  with  mem- 
brane and  filled  with  liquid,  embedded  in  the  temjjoral  bone 
of  the  skull.  Probal)ly  only  one  of  the  three  main  divisions, 
namely,  th&  cochlea, oi  the  inner  car  has  to  do  with  sensational 
elements  of  sound.  The  cochlea  contains  a  structure,  the 
basilar  membrane,*"  made  up  of  fibres  graded  in  length  so 
as  to  correspond  to  vibrations  of  different  periods;  and  the 
auditory  nerve  has  its  ending  in  certain  cells  supported  by 
these  fibres. 

The  process  whicli  conditions  hearing  is,  according  to 
the  theory  of  Helmholtz,  the  following :  ^'  The  tympanic 
membrane,  set  in  motion  by  an  air-wave,  say  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-eight  vibrations  per  second,  communi- 
cates this  motion  to  the  bones  of  the  middle  ear  and  thence 
to  the  liquid  contained  in  the  inner  ear.  The  movement 
of  this  liquid  excites  those  only  of  the  fibres  of  the  basilar 
membrane  whose  vibration  number  is  exactly,  or  approxi- 


46  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

matcly,  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight.  If  several  Ijaslhir 
membrane  fibres  are  exeited  by  a  (•()m])()und  vibration,  the 
complex  consciousness  of  a  clang,  or  chord,  follows.  The 
consciousness  of  noise  is  perhaps  best  explained  as  due  to  the 
excitation  of  basilar  membrane  fibres  in  which  "  one  fibre 
does  not  vibrate  more  strongly  than  the  rest."  *  This  ex- 
planation covers  not  only  cases  in  which  the  consciousness 
of  noise  is  excited  because  "  a  considerable  part  of  the  basilar 
membrane  is  thrown  into  uniform  vibration"  by  a  complex 
of  air-waves  of  closely  similar  vibration-number,  but  also 
those  in  which  the  consciousness  of  noise  is  due  to  an  un- 
periodic  stimulus  which  "lasts  for  an  exceedingly  brief 
time."  For,  in  both  cases,  there  is  "no  well-defined  point 
of  maximal  stimulation," 

It  should  be  added  that  the  air  vibrations  which  produce 
very  high  and  very  loud  sounds  may  be  directly  carried  to 
the  cochlea  by  the  bony  walls  of  the  skull.  Very  high  and 
very  loud  sounds  are  therefore  audible  to  persons  who  have 
lost  the  organs  of  the  middle  ear.  But  however  the 
cochlear  process  is  stimulated,  and  whatever  is  its  nature, 
it  excites  the  auditory  nerve  terminals  in  the  basilar 
membrane  cells,  and  the  excitation  is  conveyed  to  the 
auditory  centres  in  the  exterior  temporal  lobes  of  the 
brain.''  As  in  the  case  of  visual  stimulation,  such  excitation 
always  passes  over  into  outgoing  motor  nerves,  and  bodily 
movements,  especially  head  movements,  result.  Character- 
istic among  these  movements,  in  the  case  of  the  higher  ver- 
tebrate animals,  are  adjustments  of  the  outer  ear  such  as  w^e 
know  so  well  in  the  dog  and  in  the  horse.  Most  human 
beings  have  lost  the  capacity  for  ear  movements. 

*  C.  S.  Myers,  "A  Text-book  of  Experimental  Psychology,"  pp.  55-56. 


Elemental  Smell  Experiences  47 

III.     Elemental  Consciousness  of  Smell   (Olfactory 

EXPKRIENCI'ZS) 

W'liile  listcnint^  to  the  mower's  whistling  T  am,  it  will  be 
remembered,  faintly  conscious  of  the  odor  of  freshly  cut  grass : 
that  is,  my  sensational  experience  includes  smelling  as  well 
as  seeing  and  hearing.  In  i)urcly  descriptive  technical  terms, 
there  seems  little  to  be  said  about  the  elements  of  smell-ex- 
])ericnce.  I  can  in  truth  discriminate  many  odors,  which 
means  that  my  smelling  includes  different  sensational  equalities 
and  intensities;  but  nobody  has  succeeded  in  analyzing  the 
experience  into  irreducible  elemental  qualities,  fixed  by  defi- 
nite names.'**  Complex  smell-expcricnces  are  named,  ordi- 
narily, from  objects  to  which  they  belong;  or  are  known 
simjjly  by  the  feeling  which  accompanies  them,  as  ])leasant 
or  unpleasant. 

Little  is  known  of  the  external  conditions  of  smell.  The 
smell  stimulus  must  be  gaseous  in  form,  and  it  affects  end- 
organs  lying  in  the  membranous  lining  of  the  upper  part  of  the 
nostrils."*.  The  nostrils  open  into  the  pharynx ;  and  thus  the 
smell  end-organs  may  be  excited  by  way  of  the  mouth  cavity, 
and  it  is  also  true  that  particles  may  reach  the  mouth 
through  the  nostrils.  The  following  section  will  call  atten- 
tion to  one  result  of  this  close  connection  Ijetween  smell  and 
taste-organs.  The  cerebral  centre  for  smell  is  in  the  median 
side  of  the  tem))oral  lol^es,"  and  the  excitation  of  this  brain 
centre  is  normally  followed  by  characteristic  movements. 

IV.     Elemental  Taste  Experiences 

We  are  familiar  already  with  the  psychologist's  method 
of  approaching  every  experience,  —  the  analysis  of  it  into 


48  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

its  ultimate  elements.     The  method  has  now  to  be  a])i)lie(l 
to  the  e.\])erienees  whiih  we  know  as  tastes. 

The  ordinary  in(H\idual,  asked  to  name  what  he  had 
'tasted'  at  dinner,  might  answer  that  he  had  tasted  beef- 
bouillon,  roast  duck,  potato,  onion,  dressed  celery,  peach  ice, 
and  colTee.  But  the  psychologist  would  conclude  at  once  that 
some  of  these  experiences  were  complex,  made  up  of  simpler 
elements.  And  the  ex])erimentalist  would  go  farther:  he 
would  take  means  to  isolate,  so  far  as  he  could,  the  conditions 
of  taste,  so  that  other  sense-elements  should  be  shut  out  from 
consciousness.  To  this  end  he  would  select,  if  possible, 
as  subject  of  the  experiments,  an  anosmic  person,  that  is, 
one  without  smell-sensations,  or  else  he  would  close  the  sub- 
ject's nostrils,  so  as  to  eliminate  most  of  these  smell-sensa- 
tions; and  he  would  certainly  blindfold  the  subject,  to  pre- 
vent his  seeing  the  articles  which  he  tasted.  These  substances 
would  be  presented  to  him  at  an  even  temperature,  and  the 
solids  would  be  finely  minced  so  as  to  be  indistinguishable  in 
form.  Judging  by  the  results  of  actual  experiments,  in  par- 
ticular those  of  Professor  G.  T.  W.  Patrick,  the  results  of 
such  a  test,  as  applied  to  our  suggested  menu,  would  be  the 
following:  the  blindfolded  and  anosmic  subject  would  as 
likely  as  not  suppose  that  he  had  tasted  chicken  broth,  beef, 
potato,  an  unknown  sweetish  substance,  another  unknown 
material  mixed  with  a  thick,  tasteless  oil,  a  sweet  unflavored 
substance  and  a  slightly  bitter  liquid  —  perhaps  a  dilute 
solution  of  quinine.  A  normal  person,  also  blindfolded,  but 
without  closed  nostrils,  would  recognize  the  onion,  the  peach, 
the  coffee,  and  often  the  olive  oil;  but  would  be  likely  to 
confuse  the  beef  and  the  duck;  whereas,  if  these  were  un- 
salted,  the  anosmic  subject  would  fail  to  recognize  them 


Elemental  Taste  Experiences  49 

even  as  meats.  Certain  substances,  on  the  other  hand,  for 
instance,  the  different  sorts  of  bread,  of  white,  graham,  and 
rye  flours,  would  be  better  (hscriminated  by  the  anosmic 
subject. 

These  results  are  easy  of  interpretation.  What  we  know 
as  tasting  is  a  complex  experience  'made  up'  of  experiences 
of  odor,  of  pressure,  and  of  pain  —  not  to  speak  of  visual  ele- 
ments —  in  varying  combination  with  a  limited  number  of 
distinct  exj)eriences  of  taste,  (i)  The  consciousness  of  odor 
is  the  significant  factor  in  'tasting'  egg,  fruit,  wine,  onion, 
chocolate,  coffee,  and  tea.  Tea  and  coffee  are,  indeed,  un- 
distinguished from  quinine,  when  the  odor-elements  are  ex- 
cluded, and  are  differentiated  from  each  other  only  by  the 
slight  astringency  of  the  tea,  that  is,  by  the  peculiar  pres- 
sure-experience, the  'puckering,'  which  it  incites.  (2)  The 
experience  due  to  tasting  nuts,  vegetables,  or  grains  forms  a 
second  class,  for  it  consists,  in  large  j^art,  of  pressure-sensa- 
tions excited  by  stimulation  of  the  tongue.  It  follows  that 
because  of  his  trained  attention  to  degrees  of  roughness, 
smoothness,  hardness,  and  softness,  the  anosmic  jK-rson  can 
distinguish  better  than  the  normal  person,  if  both  are  blind- 
folded, breads  made  of  different  grains.  (3)  The  ex])eri- 
ence  of  pungent  taste,  in  the  third  place,  is  largely  distin- 
guished by  sensational  elements  of  pain  and  ])erhaps  of  heat. 
(4)  And  finally,  in  another  kind  of  tasting,  the  important 
feature  is  visual,  as  is  j^roved  by  the  fact  that  the  varieties 
of  meats  and  of  bread  are  so  frequently  undistinguished  by 
tlie  blindfolded  oljserver. 

But,  though  so-called  tasting  is  thus  proved  to  contain  the 
sense-consciousness  of  smell,  of  ])rcssure,  and  of  color,  it 
is  characterized  also  by  certain  distinctive  elemental  taste- 


50  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

experiences.  According  to  experimental  introspection,  there 
arc  four  lastc-(iualilics:  sweet,  salt,  sour,  and  bitter,  besides 
an  indefinite  number  of  sense-intensities.  Some  psycholo- 
gists believe  there  are  also  taste-extcnsities,  that  in  eating 
roast  beef,  for  example,  one  has  a  consciousness  of  bigness, 
absent  from  the  consciousness  of  lemon.  It  should  be  noted 
that  the  taste-qualities,  the  experiences  of  salt,  sweet,  sour, 
and  bitter,  do  not  introspectively  order  themselves  either 
(like  the  color-qualities)  in  an  articulated  series,  or  (like 
the  auditory  qualities)  in  a  periodic  series.  Like  the  color- 
qualities,  however,  they  are  capable  of  contrast  effects  —  for 
example,  lemonade  is  very  sour  after  ice-cream.* 

Concerning  the  external  stimulus  of  taste,  little  can  be  said. 
Chemically  distinct  substances  may  even  arouse  the  same 
sensational  quality;  for  example,  both  sugar  and  acetate  of 
lead  give  a  '  sweet'  taste.  The  stimulus  must,  however,  be  in 
liquid  form ;  for,  if  the  top  of  the  tongue  be  carefully  dried,  a 
grain  of  sugar  or  of  quinine  placed  upon  it  will  not  be  tasted 
till  the  tongue  becomes  moist  again.  The  physiological  end- 
organs  of  taste  are  minute  structures  contained  in  the  mucous 
membrane  of  mouth  and  of  throat,  especially  in  the  papillae 
(or  little  hillocks)  of  the  tongue.^^  The  cerebral  centres  are 
probably  near  the  smell-centres,^  and  the  characteristic 
motor  accompaniments  are  movements  of  the  tongue. 

V.    Elemental  Pressure  Experiences 
a.   pressure  experiences  through  external  excitation 

I  am,  it  will  be  remembered,  not  only  listening  to  the 

mower's  whistling,  looking  down  at  my  desk  and  scenting  the 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  26;  Myers,  op.  cit.,  p.  365,  Exp. 
79. 


Elemental  Pressure  Experiences  51 

new-mown  hay,  but  I  am  conscious  of  grasping  my  i)cn.  My 
sensational  consciousness  certainly  includes  the  experience 
of  tactual  quality,  of  tactual  intensity,  and  of  tactual  bigness. 
Everybody  admits  that  there  are  indefmitcly  many  pressure 
intensities  and  extensities,  and  it  has  been  thought  that  as 
there  are  many  qualities  of  color  and  of  pitch,  so  also  there  are 
many  pressure-qualities  —  the  experiences,  for  example,  of 
contact,  of  hardness  and  softness,  of  roughness  and  smooth- 
ness, and  of  wetness.  On  close  inspection  these  turn  out, 
however,  to  be  complex  (though  relatively  simple)  experiences 
in  which  pressure-quality  is  the  essential  component.  Thus, 
the  consciousness  of  contact  is  that  of  faint  pressure ;  the  ex- 
perience of  smoothness  seems  to  be  that  of  uninterrupted  pres- 
sure; and  the  alleged  sensation  of  hardness  is  a  complex 
whose  chief  constituent  is  the  sensation  of  intense  pressure 
due  to  excitation  of  end-organs  in  the  joints.  The  experience 
of  wetness  seems,  at  first  thought,  unambiguously  elemental 
and  unanalyzable,  but  it  is  really  a  complex  of  warmth  or  cold 
consciousness  combined  with  the  experience  of  smoothness 
and,  often,  with  a  visual  image  of  the  licjuid  stimulus.  This 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  one  often  cannot  tell  the  difference 
between  dry  or  wet  hotness  or  coldness.  One  does  not  know, 
for  example,  by  the  mere  'feeling'  of  them,  whether  one's 
feet  are  w^et  or  merely  cold ;  and  whether  a  hot  compress  is 
dry  or  wet. 

The  physical  stimulus  of  our  pressure-sensations  is  mechan- 
ical. As  it  atTects  the  skin,  it  must  produce  an  actual  defor- 
mation ;  and  we  therefore  feel  the  surface  pressure  of  a  large 
object  only  at  its  terminal  lines:  for  example,  if  the  hand  is 
plunged  in  water,  the  pressure  is  felt  only  where  the  wrist 
emerges.     But  contact  with  the  skin  docs  not  alwavs  result 


52  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

in  pressure-sensation.  For,  contrary  to  our  usual  view,  the 
skin  is  not,  as  a  whole,  sensitive  to  pressure  stimuli.-"  If  I 
am  blindfolded,  and  a  small  blunted  point  of  cork  or  wood  is 
drawn  gently  over  the  surface  of  any  part  of  my  body,  for 
example,  of  my  arm,  I  shall  feel  it  as  touching  my  skin  at  cer- 
tain points  only  —  usually  at  the  roots  of  the  hairs  of  the  skin, 
but  in  hairless  spots  also.*  This  shows  that  certain  minute 
structures  embedded  in  the  skin  are  end-organs  of  pressure; 
and  it  has  been  found  that  these  organs  are  of  two  sorts: 
(i)  hair-cells  and  (2)  more  developed  structures  known  as 
Meissner's  corpuscles.^^ 

b.     EXPERIENCES,    MAINLY    OF    PRESSURE,    THROUGH    INTER- 
NAL  EXCITATION 

End-organs  of  pressure  are  found  not  only  in  the  skin  but 
on  the  joint-surfaces,  and  perhaps  embedded  in  the  muscles.^^ 
Pressure-sensations  through  bending  the  joints  are,  indeed, 
strong  and  readily  discriminated.  One  may  readily  convince 
oneself  of  their  occurrence  if  one  lower  a  weight  by  a  string 
attached  to  the  forefinger  till  it  strikes  floor  or  table.  At 
the  moment  when  it  strikes,  one  experiences  a  sensation, 
evidently  of  pressure,  which  can  only  be  due  to  the  backward 
movement  of  the  lower  upon  the  upper  joint-surface  of  the 
arm.f 

Besides  these  admitted  pressure-sensations,  there  are  several 
other  sensational  experiences  due  also  to  internal  excitation, 
of  which,  probably,  or  possibly,  pressure-sensations  are  the 
main  constituent.  These  internally  excited  sensations  are 
(i)  the  alleged  sensation  of  strain.     This  is  occasioned  by 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Saiiford,  21;  Seashore,  p.  88;    Titchener,  §  21. 
t  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  39,  40;   Myers,  op.  cil.,  p.  352,  Exp.  42. 


Elemental  Pressure  Experiences  53 

lifting  weights  and  by  assuming  rigid  bodily  attitudes.  A 
simple  way  to  excite  it,  for  example,  is  to  clench  the  hand 
firmly,  but  in  such  wise  that  its  surfaces  do  not  touch  each 
other.  No  external  [pressure  can  then  be  felt,  but  the  resulting 
experience  is  said  to  include,  not  only  a  weak  sensation  of 
pressure  from  the  moving  of  the  surfaces  of  the  finger- joints 
on  each  other,  but  also  a  new  experience,  that  of  strain, 
regarded  by  some  as  elemental,  by  others  as  a  complex  con- 
sciousness of  pressure  and  of  pain.  It  is  specifically  due  to 
excitation  of  the  tendons. 

(2)  A  second  alleged  sensation  from  internal  excitation  is 
that  of  dizziness,  due  to  excitation  of  the  semicircular  canals.*^ 
What  is  known  as  dizziness  is  probably  either  a  complex 
experience  or  a  mere  pressure-sensation.  It  includes,  or  is 
closely  accompanied  by,  moving  visual  images  of  objects  and 
figures  rotating  slowly,  or  slipping  and  swimming  about  in 
one's  field  of  vision.  It  is  furthermore  sometimes,  though 
by  no  means  invariably,  accompanied  by  the  feeling  of 
nausea.  For  the  rest,  it  seems  to  consist  of  a  pressure- 
sensation  'located'  within  the  head. 

(3)  So-called  'organic  '  sensations  are  more  evidently 
complex  ex])eriences.  These  include  (a)  the  so-called  sen- 
sations from  excitation  of  the  alimentary  canal,  hunger,  thirst, 
nausea,  and  (b)  the  so-called  circulatory  and  respiratory 
sensations.  Carefully  analyzed,  each  of  these,  in  the  writer's 
opinion,  will  disclose  itself  as  complex,  and  not,  in  any 
sense,  elemental.  Thirst,  for  example,  is  a  complex  of  pres- 
sure and  warmth  sensations;  it  is  due  to  a  drying  of  the  mu- 
cous membrane  of  the  mouth-cavity,  which  becomes  a  ])oorer 
conductor  of  warmth.  The  chief  element  in  hunger,  also,  is 
probably  that  of  pressure,  brought  about  by  some  chemical 


54  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

action  on  the  lining  of  the  stomach.  What  is  called  nausea 
is  a  still  more  complex  experience,  but  its  essential  ingredient 
is  pressure,  due  to  the  antiperistaltic  reflexes  of  the  oesophagus. 

The  alleged  respiratory  sensations,  such  as  breathlessness, 
suffocation,  and  stuffiness,  are  evidently  experiences  including 
several  elements:  first,  and  most  important,  pressure-sen- 
sations; often  also,  sensations  of  strain,  as  when  one  holds 
one's  breath;  and,  finally,  for  most  people,  a  visual  image 
of  the  part  of  the  body  —  chest  or  throat  —  which  is  affected. 
The  'circulatory'  sensations  are  either,  like  itching  and  fever- 
ishness,  compounds  of  warmth  and  pressure-sensations,  or 
else  they  arc  the  massive  pressure-sensations  from  difficult 
breathing  or  from  abnormally  strong  heart-beat. 

These  'organic'  experiences,  though  seldom  attended  to, 
are  nevertheless  of  great  significance,  for  they  may  form  part 
of  our  most  complex  ideas  and  moods.  Emotions  are,  as  we 
shall  see,  especially  rich  in  'organic'  sensations.  When,  for 
example,  I  am  afraid,  my  heart  flutters ;  when  I  am  grieved, 
my  throat  is  choked ;  when  I  am  perplexed,  there  is  a  weight 
on  my  chest.  And  though  I  concern  myself  little  with  these 
seemingly  unimportant  experiences,  they  none  the  less  effec- 
tively color  my  moods.* 

The  cerebral  condition  of  pressure-sensation,  whether 
from  external  or  from  internal  excitation,  is,  in  the  view 
of  most  physiologists,  excitation  of  the  region  about  the 
fissure  of  Rolando.''  From  this  centre,  motor  nerves 
spread  outward  and  downward  to  all  muscles  of  the  body 
(and  limbs)  and  pressure-sensations  are,  therefore,  normally 
accompanied  and  followed  by  bodily  movements  of  all 
varieties. 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XII.,  pp.  200  ff. 


Elemental  Pain  Experience  55 

VI.     Elemental  Pain  Experience 

The  pin  point  which,  gently  applied,  excites  first  a  sensa- 
tional experience  of  pressure,  may  bring  about,  an  instant 
later,  a  very  ditTerent  sort  of  consciousness,  that  of  pain. 
This  is  evidently  distinct  from  all  other  sensation-elements 
through  stimulation  of  the  skin,  and  no  good  observer  con- 
fuses the  pressure-consciousness  with  the  pain  due  to  a  heavy 
weight.  But  it  is  perhaps  less  easy  to  realize  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  pain  is  quite  distinct  from  that  of  unpleasantness. 
It  is  unpleasant,  for  example,  not  painful,  to  discover  that 
one  has  given  to  the  deck  steward  twice  too  large  a  fee;  and 
the  sight  of  the  rose-pink  gown  of  the  lady  with  auburn  hair 
is  unpleasant  and  not  painful.  The  confusion  is  mainly  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  sensational  ex|)erience  of  ])ain  is  always 
accompanied  by  unpleasantness.  In  the  case  of  apparent 
exceptions,  as  of  the  slight  pain  which  we  intentionally  inflict 
upon  ourselves  to  see  how  it  will  feel,  the  pleasantness  is 
probably  that  of  the  novelty,  not  of  the  pain.  But  it  does  not 
follow  from  the  fact  that  j^ains  are  always  unpleasant,  that 
unpleasantnesses  are  always  painful,  still  less  that  the  two  are 
identical.  Our  first  conclusion,  therefore,  is  that  painfulness, 
an  experience  which  follows  upon  the  burning,  bruising,  or 
cutting  of  the  skin  and  ujx)n  certain  internal  changes,  is 
dilTerent  from  unpleasantness  or  disagreeableness. 

Some  psychologists  believe  that  there  is  one  quality  of  pain, 
as  of  pressure,  and  that  the  experiences  which  we  differentiate 
as  acute,  dull,  stinging,  gnawing  j)ains  are  qualitatively  the 
same,  though  differing  in  intensity,  i)erhaps  in  extcnsitv  or 
bigness,  and  in  steadiness.  Professor  Ebbinghaus,  on  the 
other  hand,  teaches  that    there  arc  two  pain-([ualities,  the 


56  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

consciousness  of    acute    (skchcnd)    and   of    dull    {dump/) 
pain  * 

When  we  ask  for  the  physical  condition  of  pain  we  are  met 
by  an  unusual  relation.  For  every  other  form  of  sense-qual- 
ity we  have  found  a  dcfmite,  even  if  vaguely  characterized, 
physical  stimulation.  In  the  case  of  pain,  however*,  it  is 
obvious  at  once  that  no  specific  form  of  energy  occasions  it, 
but  that  the  same  stimuli  which  excite  sensations  of  pressure, 
warmth,  and  cold,  and  possibly  even  those  which  excite  visual 
and  auditory  sensations,  may  bring  about  painfulness  also,  if 
only  they  are  very  intense,  long-continued,  or  often  repeated. 
Hard  or  long-continued  pressure,  intense  heat  and  cold,  and 
possibly  blinding  lights  and  crashing  sounds  may  be  called 
painful;  whereas  excessive  sweetness  and  heavy  fragrance 
are  merely  unpleasant. 

It  used  to  be  held  that  just  as,  physically,  pain  seems  due 
to  high  degrees  of  mechanical  and  thermal  stimulus,  so, 
physiologically,  it  must  be  referred  to  excessive  functioning 
of  pressure  (perhaps,  also,  of  warmth  and  cold)  end-organs. 
But  this  is  disproved  by  the  fact  that  certain  anaesthetics 
destroy  the  sensitiveness  of  the  skin  to  pain  stimuli, 
whereas  other  drugs  make  the  skin  insensitive  to  pressure. 
If  the  oculist  treats  one's  eye  with  cocaine,  one  is  distinctly 
conscious  of  the  contact  of  his  instruments,  but  feels  no  pain ; 
a  similar  use  of  saponin  annihilates  pressure-sensations  and 
leaves  pain.  Furthermore,  'pain-spots'  have  been  found  on 
various  areas  of  the  skin  f  —  whereas,  from  other  parts,  large 
areas  of  the  cheeks,  for  example,  they  are  lacking.  When 
these  spots  are  excited  by  any  stimulus,  mechanical  or  thermal, 

*  "Grundziige  der  Psychologic,"  1902,  I.,  §  36. 

t  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  32  a;  Seashore,  p.  85;  Titchener,  §  22. 


Elemental  Experiences  of  Temperature  57 

electrical  or  chemical,  consciousness  of  jmin  without 
pressure  results.  Either,  then,  the  skin  must  contain 
special  end-organs  of  pain  "  —  as  most  physiologists  now 
hold  —  or,  as  Goldschcidcr  the  discoverer  of  pain-spots 
suggests,  pain  is  physiologically  due  not  to  the  activity  of 
any  nerve  end-organs  in  the  skin  but  to  a  transforma- 
tion, in  the  gray  substance  of  the  spinal  cord,  of 
nerve-excitations  conveyed  from  especially  exposed  pressure- 
organs. 

Pain-sensation,  like  [pressure-sensation,  may  be  excited 
within  the  body;  yet  the  abdominal  organs  are,  in  the  main, 
insensitive  to  mechanical  and  thermal  stimulation,  "  may  be 
handled,  pinched,  or  cauterized,"  as  Foster  says,  "without 
pain  or  indeed  any  sensation  being  felt."  The  consciousness 
of  pain  is,  however,  conditioned  by  excitation  of  the  exter- 
nal i)eritoneum  and  the  lining  of  the  abdomen,  and  by  press- 
ure against  the  diaphragm.  No  special  cerebral  centre  of 
pain  is  known.  jSIovements  of  avoidance  and  withdrawal 
accompany  the  experience. 

VII.    Elemental  Experiences  of  Temperature 

Experiences  of  warmth,  cold,  and  hotness  are  grouped 
together  because  of  apparent  similarity.  Nobody  questions 
that  the  consciousness  of  warmth  and  that  of  cold  are  ele- 
mental experiences,  further  unanalyzable  and  radically  dif- 
ferent from  other  sorts  of  sensational  consciousness  —  from 
the  consciousness  of  pain  or  of  pressure,  for  example.  It  is 
less  easy  to  classify,  introspectively,  the  sensational  experience 
of  hotness.  Clearly,  it  is  not,  as  is  often  assumed,  merely 
an  intenser  consciousness  of  warmth.  But  whether  it  is  a 
third  elemental  experience   or  a  complex  of  warmth   and 


58  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

pain  consciousness  is  harder  to  determine.  Evidently  many 
intensities  of  warmth,  cold,  and  hotness  are  distinguish- 
able. 

No  direct  relation  can  be  discovered  between  the  degree 
of  the  thermometer  and  the  cold,  or  warmth,  or  heat  sensa- 
tion. In  other  words,  we  are  not  always  warm  when  the 
thermometer  registers  a  high  degree,  and  cold  when  it  stands 
at  a  low  figure.  On  the  contrary,  the  room  which  seems 
warm  to  me  as  I  enter  it  after  a  brisk  walk  seems  chilly  an 
hour  later,  though  the  height  of  the  mercury  is  unchanged; 
and  if  I  warm  one  hand  and  cool  another,  the  same  lukewarm 
water  will  seem  cool  to  the  first  and  warm  to  the  second.* 
These  experiences,  and  others  like  them,  seem  clearly  to 
show  that  the  surface  sensation  of  warmth  or  of  cold  or  of 
heat  is  not  determined  by  the  actual  temperature  of  an  organ, 
but  by  the  relation  between  the  temperature  of  an  organ 
and  that  of  its  environment.  When  the  physical  temperature 
of  the  organ  exceeds  that  of  its  environment,  the  sensation  is 
of  cold;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  when  the  temperature  falls 
below  that  of  the  environment,  one  has  the  experience  of 
warmth,  changing  —  as  we  have  seen  —  at  a  certain  point  to 
that  of  heat. 

The  thermal  stimulation  of  the  skin  is  occasioned  in  two 
ways:  by  radiation  of  heat  from  outer  objects  and  by  mus- 
cular activity,  which  means  loss  of  energy  in  the  form  of 
heat.  I  may  grow  warm,  for  example,  by  basking  in  the  sun, 
or  by  swinging  dumb-bells.  Not  the  skin  as  a  whole,  how- 
ever, but  certain  definite  end-organs  are  affected.  This  is 
shown  by  applying  warm  and  cold  surfaces  of  very  small 
extent  to  different  parts  of  the  body.     A  bit  of  metal  may 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  16;  Titchcner,  p.  53,  end. 


Elemental  Experiences  of  Temperature  59 

be  moved  along  for  some  little  distance  on  the  surface  of 
the  body,  without  rousing  the  experience  of  cold,  which, 
however,  will  suddenly  occur  as  the  stimulus  reaches  one 
of  the  'cold  spots'  over  an  end-organ  of  cold.  There  are 
fewer  of  these  than  of  pressure  or  pain  spots,  and  the 
warmth-spots  are  least  frequent  of  all  and  most  scattered.* 
The  cornea  of  the  eye  is  sensitive  to  cold,  but  not  to  press- 
ure; and  both  warmth  and  cold  spots  are  found  within 
the  mouth-cavity  where  no  pain-spots  have  been  discovered. 
Most  of  the  inner  surfaces  of  the  body,  however,  seem  to  lack 
warmth  and  cold  end-organs.  Even  the  mucous  lining  of 
the  mouth-cavity  is  less  sensitive  than  the  outer  skin,  so  that 
one  may  drink,  with  perfect  comfort,  coffee  which  seems  un- 
bearably hot  if  it  touches  the  lip." 

The  sj)ccific  end-organs  of  warmth  and  of  cold  have  not 
been  definitely  determined.  But  experiment  seems  to  show 
quite  conclusively  that  I  feel  hotncss  when  end-organs  for 
cold  and  for  warmth  are  simultaneously  excited.  No  special 
cerebral  centre  is  known,  and  no  peculiarly  characteristic 
movements  follow. 

With  this  consideration  of  our  sensational  consciousness  of 
warmth  and  of  cold  we  have  come  to  the  end  of  our  merely 
structural  analysis  f  of  percejition  and  imagination  into  sen- 
sational elements.  Two  ])oints  must  be  touched  upon,  in 
conclusion.  It  must  be  noted  in  the  first  place  that  a  sen- 
sational quality  always  occurs  in  close  combination  with  an 
intensity  and  often  with  an  extensity.  One  is,  for  example, 
simultaneously  conscious  of  bigness,  brightness,  and  blue- 
ness  as  one  looks  at  the  summer  sky.     The  fusion  of  quality 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  13;    Seashore,  p.  83;    Titchencr,  §  19. 
t  Cf.  above,  p.  14. 


6o  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

with  intensity  (and  with  bi^t^ncss)  is  called  sensation.  Some 
psychologists  treat  the  sensation  as  unit  of  perception  and 
describe  the  qualities,  — of  color,  pitch,  and  the  like,  —  the 
intensities  —  brightnesses,  loudnesses,  and  so  on  —  and  the 
extensities,  not  as  sensational  elements  but  as  attributes  of 
sensation.'-" 

The  succeeding  chapter  will  speak  further  of  fusions. 
In  the  meantime,  a  word  must  be  said  of  the  physiological 
conditions  of  perception  and  imagination.  In  ordinary 
perception,  some  sensational  elements  are  excited  through 
stimulation  of  end-organs  (that  is,  'peripherally'  excited), 
whereas  all  sensational  elements  in  imagination  are  con- 
ditioned by  brain  excitation  ('centrally'  excited).  So,  when 
I  imagine  the  Theatre  of  Dionysos,  at  Athens,  only  my  oc- 
cipital lobe  is  excited,  but  when  I  look  out  at  Symphony  Hall, 
my  retina  is  excited  as  well;  when  I  imagine  the  flute-like 
song  of  the  hermit  thrush,  only  my  temporal  lobe  is  excited; 
but  when  I  hear  the  telephone  bell  ring,  the  inner  organs  of 
my  cochlea  are  in  vibration. 

It  should  be  noted  that  this  account  of  the  physiological 
condition  of  perception  does  not  hold  in  the  case  of  the  halluci- 
nation. The  hallucination,  like  the  illusion,  is  a  perception 
which  does  not  directly  correspond  with  any  external  ob- 
ject.* Both  hallucination  and  illusion  are  perception  —  that 
is,  involuntary  and  predominantly  sensational  experience, 
reflectively  attributed  to  other  people,  of  objects  regarded  as 
impersonal  and  external.  But  whereas  the  illusion  includes 
peripherally  excited  elements,  a  hallucination  contains  only 
centrally  excited  sense-elements.     The  dream  or  delirium 

*  On  Illusions,  cf.  Chapter  IV.,  pp.  72  ff.,  and  Appendix,  Section  IV., 
(i).     On  Hallucinations,  cf.  Appendix,  Section  XVI. 


FJcmcnial  Rxpcrinucs  of  Tcui pcratuyc  6r 

imac;c  of  a  ghost,  for  example,  is  a  hallucination,  because 
it  is  not  excited  l)y  any  external  object,  whereas  the  tradi- 
tional confusion  of  window-curtain  with  ghost  is  an  illusion. 
Evidently,  therefore,  the  hallucination,  though  a  form  of 
j)ercej)tion,  is  not  distinguishable,  by  [)hysiological  condition, 
from  imagination. 

'I'here  is  jierhaps  a  danger  lest  this  long,  though  at  every 
point  abbreviated,  study  of  ourselves  as  sensationally  con- 
scious may  retard  our  ap])rehension  of  the  essential  nature  of 
our  ])erceiving  and  imagining.  We  run  the  risk  of  not  seeing 
the  woods  for  the  trees  —  of  missing  the  figure  for  the  de- 
tails. For  this  reason,  we  shall  here  again  summarize  the 
basal  conclusions  of  the  two  preceding  chapters  without  spe- 
cial reference  to  the  structural  analysis  undertaken  in  this 
cha])ter.  According  to  these  conclusions,  perception,  like 
imagination,  is  the  comj)lex  and  predominantly  sensational 
consciousness  of  a  particularized  impersonal  object  in 
relation  to  myself.  But  the  perceiving  self  differs  from 
the  imagining  self  (i)  in  that  it  knows  itself  to  be 
involuntarily  conscious;  (2)  in  that  it  may  later  regard 
itself  as  having  shared  its  experience  with  unj)articularized 
other  selves;  and  (3)  in  that  it  regards  its  imj^ersonal  object 
as  external,  that  is,  indei)endent  of  itself.  The  imagining 
self,  on  the  other  hand,  to  some  degree  controls  its  ex- 
|)erience,  which,  accordingly,  is  regarded  as  more  '])ri\-ate' 
and  as  normally  unshared ;  and  its  objects  are  not  ex- 
ternalized. To  recur  to  our  initial  exam{)le:  I  am  sensa- 
tionally conscious  both  of  the  desk  which  I  see  and  of 
the  Tyrolese  landscape  which  1  imagine;  but  I  realize 
that  I  am  inevitably  conscious  of  an  external  desk,  whereas 
I    mav    direct    mv    attention    awa\'    from     mv     mountain- 


62  A   I'^irst  Book  in  Psychology 

image;  and  (as  I  later  relleet),  I  share  my  conseiousness 
of  the  desk  with  the  housemaid  who  dusts  it,  whereas  she 
does  not  know  that  1  am  imagining  snowy  mountains  any 
more  than  I  know  what  enthralHng  image  brings  the  smile  to 
her  lips  and  diverts  her  attention  from  the  dustiest  corner  of 
the  desk. 


CHAPTER    IV 

PERCEPTION    AND   IMAGINATION   AS    COMBINATION    AND 
DIFFERENTIATION    OF    ELEMENTS 

A.    Perception  and  Imagination  as  Fusion  and  Assimi- 
lation 

It  has  appeared,  in  an  earlier  chapter,  that  perception  and 
imagination  are  analyzable  into  irreducible  sensational  ele- 
ments. It  is  necessary  now  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  in 
ordinary  ])erceiving  and  imagining  one  is  not  aware  of  these 
elemental  constituents  of  consciousness,  the  different  qualities, 
intensities,  and  extensities.  Such  analysis  is  the  reflective 
work  of  the  psychologist,  not  the  immediate  experience  of  the 
perceiving  self.  Thus,  one's  immediate  consciousness  of  a 
tone  is  an  undistinguished,  unitary  consciousness,  and  is 
not  an  awareness  of  a  pitch,  an  intensity  and  a  timbre, 
though  tone-consciousness  is  analyzable,  in  after  reflection, 
into  these  factors,  and  though  it  is  due  to  cHstinguishable 
physical  and  physiological  conditions.  Similarly,  the  imme- 
diate consciousness  of  a  tone  sounded  simultaneously  with 
its  octave  is  rarely  an  experience  of  two  tones  as  distin- 
guishable from  each  other,  though  united;  indeed,  it  is 
often  difllcult  to  differentiate  these  tones  even  by  an  effort 
of  attention. 

The  unity  of  an  experience,  in  this  merely  negative  sense 
of  the  absence  of  differentiation,  is  often  know  n  as  fusion.'  * 

*  These  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
divisions  (§§)  of  the  Appendix,  Section  1\'. 

6; 


64  ^1   First  Book  in  Psychology 

By  fusion  is  meant,  therefore,  the  absence  of  discrimination  in 
an  experience  which  is  nevertheless  (i)  due  to  several  end- 
organ  excitations,  and  therefore  (2)  analyzable  in  after-reflec- 
tion into  distinguishable  elements.  The  combination,  for 
example,  of  the  C  and  G,  the  loudness,  and  the  volume  of  a 
given  chord,  is  a  case  of  fusion;  and  so  is  the  combination  of 
the  experiences  of  redness,  yellowness,  colorless  light,  bright- 
ness, bigness,  odor,  coolness,  pressure  through  joint  and  skin 
stimulation,  and  of  pleasure,  from  an  apple  which  one  is 
rolling  about  in  one's  hand.  Each  one  of  the  combined  or 
fused  elements  must  be  directly  excited  by  the  stimulation  of 
an  end-organ,  and  not  merely  indirectly  excited  through  the 
stimulation,  by  connecting  fibres,  of  the  corresponding  brain- 
centres. 

Fusions  differ  from  each  other  only  in  the  degree  of  close- 
ness with  which  the  diverse  elements  are  connected,  and  this 
is  tested  by  the  difficulty  of  the  analysis  in  different  cases. 
The  closest  fusions  which  we  know  are  those  of  the  different 
elements  invariably  connected  in  a  sensation,  the  quality, 
intensity,  and  extensity.*  Almost,  if  not  quite,  as  close  as 
this  fusion  is  that  of  a  color  with  colorless  light:  this  is 
the  closest  combination  which  we  know  of  different  qualities. 
Other  examples  are  the  fusion  of  taste  and  smell  in  many  so- 
called  tastes,  of  the  experiences  of  pressure  and  of  tempera- 
ture in  what  is  named  touch,  and  of  the  consciousness  of 
extensity  and  pressure  in  the  experience  of  smoothness  or  of 
roughness. 

Assimilation  is  the  negative  unity,  that  is,  absence  of  dis- 
crimination, in  an  experience  reflectively  analyzable  into 
simpler  experiences  of  which  one  (at  least)  is  a  recurring 

*  Cf.  Chapter  ITT.,  p.  59. 


Fusion  and  Assimilation  65 

consciousness,  ccrcbrally  excited.  As  T  look,  for  example, 
at  a  j)olislied  marljle.  or  at  a  velvet  cloak,  I  get  (besides  the 
experiences  of  color  and  form,  light  and  shade)  a  distinct 
impression  of  its  texture,  even  though  I  do  not  touch  it.  Such 
a  texture-feeling  is,  of  course,  cerebrally  excited  (for  the  end- 
organs  in  my  fingers  are  not  stimulated),  and  T  explain  it  as 
due  to  my  past  simultaneous  exi)erience  of  similar  light-effects 
with  feeling  of  roughness  or  of  smoothness.  Every  adult  per- 
ception is  an  assimilation  as  well  as  a  fusion  of  simpler  experi- 
ences. I  perceive  the  automobile,  —  that  is,  1  am  conscious 
of  its  color,  form,  and  motion,  —  though  the  only  experience 
peripherally  excited  is  the  auditory  consciousness  of  puffing 
and  ringing.  And  I  perceive  the  orange  which  the  child  in 
the  street-car  seat  behind  me  is  eating,  —  I  am  conscious  of 
its  color,  and  roundness,  and  rough,  cool  'feel,' — though 
only  my  olfactory  end-organs  are  excited.  The  reason  in 
both  cases  is  that  J  have  often  before  received  simultane- 
ously the  different  sorts  of  impression.  It  follows,  of  course, 
that  e\ery  perception  is  the  result  not  only  of  present 
stimulation  but  of  past  experience:  that  a  man  ])er- 
ceives  more  than  a  child,  and  a  child  than  a  savage.  The 
baby,  for  example,  burns  his  hand  because  his  visual 
perception  of  fiame  does  not  include  the  assimilated  con- 
sciousness of  heat;  and  the  West  Indian  negro  carries  the 
wheelbarrow  on  his  head  because  his  perception  of  it  does 
not  include  the  assimilated  consciousness  of  its  being 
wheeled.* 


*  The  term  'assimilation'  is  used,  in  this  section,  as  equivalent  to  'simul- 
taneous association.'  For  the  distinction  often  made  between  these  expres- 
sions, see  Appendix,  Section  VII.  (§  i).  For  discussion  of  Successive 
Association,  see  Chapter  VII. 

F 


66  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

B.     Perceptiox  and  Imagination  as  Realized  Combi- 
nation AND  Differentiation 

Perception,  like  imagination,  is  sensational  consciousness, 
and  is,  thus,  a  unity  in  the  negative  sense  that  the  perceiver 
fails  to  differentiate  elements  of  consciousness  which  are 
distinguishable  to  after-reflection.  But  both  perception  and 
imagination  include  also  a  certain  consciousness,  very  often 
\  ague  and  unemphasized,  of  the  connectedness,  the  harmony, 
the  ' together-ness '  (to  borrow  a  term  from  Dickens),  and 
at  the  same  time  of  the  distinctness,  of  sense-elements.  These 
experiences  of  unity  and  of  distinctness  may  be  called  forms 
of  elemental  relational  consciousness.  They  are  more  promi- 
nent in  recognition,  in  thought,  and  in  will  than  in  perception 
and  imagination;  and  the  detailed  discussion  of  them  will 
consequently  be  postponed  to  later  chapters.*  Yet  the  con- 
sciousness of  combination,  or  together-ness,  and  of  distinct- 
ness, or  apartness,  form  a  part  of  certain  experiences  so  pre- 
dominantly sensational  that  they  are  best  treated  as  forms  of 
perception  and  imagination.  Three  such  experiences  form 
the  topic  of  this  chapter,  but  only  one  of  these,  the  conscious- 
ness of  space,  will  be  considered  in  any  detail. 

I.    The  Consciousness  of  Space 
a.    The  Elements  of  the  Space  Consciousness 

My  consciousness  of  space  is  analyzable  into  elements  of 
three  sorts :  first  and  foremost,  the  sensational  consciousness, 
visual  or  tactual,  of  mere  extensity  or  bigness;  second,  certain 
relational  experiences  of  distinctness  and  unification;  third, 
the  sensational  experiences,  mainly  tactual,  due  to  move- 

*  Cf.  Chapter  VIII.,  pp.  127  ff. 


The  Consciousness  of  Space  67 

ment  of  my  limbs,  or  eyes,  or  body.  The  elementary  con- 
sciousness of  extensily  or  bigness  is  fused  with  our  \isual 
consciousness  of  color  and  colorless  light  and  with  our  tactual 
consciousness  of  pressure.  That  is  to  say,  we  are  conscious 
both  of  colors  and  of  ])ressurcs  as  extended."  The  conscious- 
ness of  this  blue  or  of  this  heavy  object  as  more  or  less  extended 
is,  however,  an  indefmitely  less  complex  experience  than  that 
which  we  call  the  consciousness  of  space.  Such  a  conscious- 
ness of  'mere  cxtensity' — a  constituent,  we  may  suppose, 
of  the  experience  of  the  new-born  child  when  his  retina  or 
hand  is  stimulated  —  is  not  a  consciousness  of  precise  size, 
of  defmite  form,  or  of  exact  position ;  it  is  not  even  a  conscious- 
ness of  surface  or  of  depth ;  it  is  a  vague,  unrelated,  elemental 
consciousness,  to  be  compared,  perhaps,  with  such  spatial 
consciousness  as  a  grown  person  has  when  opening  his  eyes 
in  a  dark  room.  Yet  the  elemental  consciousness  of  extensity 
is  the  centre  and  core  of  the  complex  experiences  of  spatial 
form  and  position. 

h.    The  Consciousness  of  Distance,  or  Apartness 

The  simplest  form  of  my  complex  spatial  consciousness  is 
the  experience,  visual  and  tactual,  of  apartness  or  distance.' 
I  sec,  for  example,  that  my  ink-bottle  stands  apart  from  my 
paper-weight;  and  1  am  conscious,  with  closed  eyes,  that  the 
collar  and  the  cuff  which  chafe  me  are  apart  from  each  other. 
Some  psychologists  ha\'e  regarded  the  experience  of  ajiartness 
as  an  elemental  consciousness  incapable  of  further  analysis, 
but  careful  intros])ecti()n  will  disclose  that  it  is  made  up  of  a 
consciousness  of  the  two-ness,  or  duality  (of  sense  objects  or 
qualities)  fused  with  a  consciousness  of  intervening  exten- 
sity.    Thus,  when  I  perceive  that  a  red  dot  lies  ai:)art  from 


68  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

a  blue  (lot,  1  am  simultaneously  conscious  (i)  of  the  redness 
and  the  jjlueness,  (2)  of  their  ilistinctness,  and  (3)  of  a  certain 
extensity  (that  of  a  portion  of  the  sheet  on  which  the  dots  are 
written)  as  (4)  condition  of  the  distinctness  of  the  dots.  I 
am  conscious,  in  other  words,  of  extensity  intervening  be- 
tween two  colors.  And  when,  with  eyes  closed,  I  am  con- 
scious that  a  warm  object  lies,  at  some  distance  from  a  cold 
object,  on  my  arm,  I  experience  the  cold  and  the  warmth, 
the  distinctness,  or  two-ness,  of  them,  and,  once  more,  an 
intervening  extensity.  The  nature  and  conditions  of  this 
complex  experience  of  apartness  must  be  studied  in  some- 
what more  detail.  To  begin  with  the  experience  of  two- 
ness:  light-stimuli  falling  about  .004  to  .006  millimetre 
apart  on  the  retina  are  realized  as  two.*  With  cutaneous 
stimulation  the  case  is  different.  Experiment  has  shown 
that  the  consciousness  of  two-ness  does  not  follow  on  a  two- 
fold stimulation  of  closely  contiguous  spots  on  all  parts  of 
the  skin.  If  two  points  be  placed  upon  any  surface  of  the 
skin,  some  distance  may  be  found  at  which  they  will  excite 
the  consciousness,  not  of  two  pressures,  but  of  a  single  one. 
This  distance  varies  in  different  localities,  and  is  smaller  on 
the  mobile  organs:  about  one  millimetre,  for  example,  on 
the  tongue,  two  millimetres  on  the  finger-tips,  and  sixty-five 
millimetres  on  the  middle  of  the  back.  The  areas  within 
which  two  points  are  felt  as  one  are  called  '  sensory  circles, ' 
and  it  is  important  to  notice  that  they  are  relatively,  not 
absolutely,  defined.  That  is  to  say,  the  skin  is  not  mapped 
off  into  definite  portions,  such  that  a  point  near  the  edge  of 
one  portion  is  felt  as  distinct  from  a  very  near  point  which, 
however,  is  over  the  border  of  the  given  'sensory  circle.'  On 
the  contrary,  the  distance  between  any  two  points  felt  as  one 


The  Consciousness  of  Distance  69 

must  be  virtually  the  same  in  neighboring  regions  of  the 
skin.* 

The  condition  of  the  consciousness  of  two-ness  is  evidently, 
therefore,  double  excitation  of  skin  and  retina  (providing 
always  that  the  stimulating  objects  be  at  suflhcient  objective 
distance  from  each  other) .  The  consciousness  of  an  extensity 
as  separating  or  intervening  between  these  distinct  stimuli 
cannot  be  so  simply  explained.  It  will  be  convenient  to 
consider  first  the  cutaneous  and  next  the  visual  intervening 
extensity.  (i)  There  is  no  objective,  or  physical,  stimulus, 
of  the  experience  of  an  extensity  'between'  two  pressures: 
two  separated  points  touch  my  skin,  and  the  intervening 
surface  is  not  stimulated.  Yet  I  am  conscious  of  interven- 
ing extensity.  The  explanation  is  probably  the  following : 
When  two  points  touch  my  skin,  I  not  only  perceive  the  pres- 
sure and  the  two-ness,  but  I  imagine  the  extended  pressure 
of  an  object  stimulating  the  intervening  extensity.  This 
imagination  of  an  intervening  extensity  is  probably  to  be 
explained  by  the  fact  that  the  two  pressure  organs  have  most 
often  been  excited  not  by  separate  points,  but  by  a  single 
object  exciting  both  at  once.f  On  the  j^hysiological  side,  the 
explanation  probably  is  the  following:  Nerve  excitation 
spreads  from  the  place  of  excitation  to  contiguous  nerve- 
tracts,  especially  to  those  which  have  been  frequently  excited 
together.  Therefore,  the  cerebral  excitation  due  to  the  stim- 
ulation of  separated  points  of  the  skin  tends  to  rouse  the 
cerebral  excitation  corresponding  to  the  frequent  stimulation 
of  the  intervening  area  of  the  skin. 

(2)   The  case  of  the  visual  consciousness  of   intervening 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  7;    Seashore,  pp.  74  ff. ;    Titchener,  §  49; 
Myers,  op.  cit.,  Exps.  103-104. 
t  Cf.  above,  p.  05. 


70  .1   First  Book  in  Psychology 

cxtensity  appears  more  simple.  The  cxtensity  whicli  is  real- 
ized as  separating  the  red  and  the  blue  dots  is  that  of  the 
white  cackground;  and  in  retinal  terms,  end-organs  or  sub- 
stances, between  those  stimulated  by  the  red  and  blue  I.glit 
are  excited  by  white  light.  The  problem,  here,  is  to  explain 
why  —  when  the  whole  retina  is  stimulated  by  the  white  light 
from  the  paper  background  —  just  this  particular  part  of  the 
stimulating  background  should  be  realized  as  in  especial 
relation  to  the  red  and  the  blue  dots;  in  other  words,  why 
this  particular  part  of  the  total  consciousness  of  extended 
whiteness  should  be  combined  with  the  consciousness  of  dis- 
tinct red  and  blue.  Again  the  explanation  may  be  given  in 
terms  of  habitual  experience.  We  are  accustomed  to  the 
sight  of  objects  with  edges  in  accentuated  color ;  and  we  see 
the  'middle  ground'  of  these  objects  as  cxtensity  intervening 
between  the  two  borders.  We  therefore  gain  the  habit  of 
regarding  that  part  of  a  background  which  lies  between 
lines,  or  even  between  dots,  rather  than  any  other  part  of 
the  background,  as  related  to  these  lines  or  dots. 

c.    The  Consciousness  of  Form 
I.    Of  Two-dimensional  Form 

My  spatial  consciousness  is  more  than  a  mere  awareness  of 
cxtensity  and  apartness.  I  am  at  this  moment,  for  example, 
conscious  not  only  that  my  letter-paper  has  bigness  and  lies 
apart  from  my  penwiper,  but  also  that  the  paper  is  oblong 
and  the  penwiper  round;  and  I  am  furthermore  conscious 
that  the  paper  is  flat  and  the  ink-bottle  cubical.  I  am  con- 
scious, in  other  words,  of  two-dimensional  and  of  three- 
dimensional  form. 

The  consciousness  of  form  differs  from  other  sorts  of  spatial 


The  Consciousness  of  Form  71 

consciousness  in  thai  it  explicitly  includes  the  experience  of 
unification  of  points.  ''I'he  [)oint'  is  'the  apart';  the  form 
is  a  unification  of  points.  The  consciousness  of  two-dimen- 
sional form  is  almost  certainly  due,  in  part,  to  the  movements 
made  by  eyeballs  or  hand  in  outlining  or  tracing  an  ob- 
ject; and  probably,  also,  includes  a  vague  consciousness  of 
these  outlining  movements.  Such  movements  are  instinc- 
ti\ely  j)erformed  as  one  perceives  an  object.*  When  I  am 
visually  conscious  of  my  paper  as  rectangular  and  then  of  my 
|)en  wiper  as  round,  my  eyeballs  make  two  series  of  move- 
ments, characteristically  and  markedly  differing  from  each 
otlier.  If  with  closed  eyes  I  am  tactually  conscious  of  these 
objects,  my  finger  makes  (or  starts  to  make)  in  the  one  case 
a  broken  movement,  in  the  other  a  sweeping  movement, 
as  it  follows  their  outlines.  Such  outlining  movements, 
whether  of  eye  or  of  hand,  may  be  more  or  less  completely 
executed.  The  baby,  who  is  finding  out  that  the  plate  is 
round,  continues  the  outlining,  exploring  movement  of  his 
finger  all  about  its  circumference.  The  grown  person  may 
make  merely  the  first  part  of  the  movement;  or  lie  mav 
make  a  slight  and  unnoticed  movement  ;  or,  finally,  he 
may  have  merely  a  tendency  to  movement,  that  is,  an  ex- 
citation of  motor  neurones,  without  any  actual  muscular 
contraction.  But  without  doubt  these  movements  (of  eye- 
balls, hands,  and  tongue)  play  an  important  part  in  the 
develoj)ment  of  the  space-consciousness.  The  unattcnded-to 
experience  of  such  movements  (whether  performed,  and  thus 
percei\ed,  or  merely  imagined)  probably  constitutes  a  part  of 
my  complex  consciousness  of  two-dimensional,  or  surface, 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  L.  Witnicr,  "Analytic    Psythologv,"  Kxj).  XV'II., 
pp.  61  IT. 


72 


A  First  Book  in  Psychology 


forms.  The  experience  of  surface-form  may,  thus,  be  de- 
scribed as  a  fusion  of  (i)  the  sensational  experiences  of  ex- 
tensity  and  of  sense  quality  due  to  excitation  of  end-organs 
by  stimulating  object ;  (2)  the  relational  experiences  of  distinct- 
ness and  of  unification;  and  (3)  the  experiences,  also  sensa- 
tional, due  to  the  instinctive  movements  of  the  eyeballs  and 
hand. 

A  study  of  geometrical  illusions  ^  has  been  held  to  show  the 
importance,  in  our  consciousness  of  form  and  direction,  of  the 

unattended-to  consciousness  of 
pressure    due    to    eye    move- 
ments.   Illusions  due  to  over- 
FiG.  3.  estimation     of     small    angles 

furnish  a  good  example.  The  straight  line,  a-b,  for  instance, 
seems  to  run  upward  slightly  from  each  end  toward  c,  and 
the  parallel  lines  fg  and  hi 


seem  to  diverge  in  the 
middle  of  the  figure.  This 
is  presumably  because  the 

smaller  angles,  acd,  bce,fkl,  a  variation  by  Henng  of  the  Zellncr  figure. 
,  1.1  ii  „_^  (From  Sanford,  after  Ladd.) 

hmn,  and  the   others,    are  "^ 

overestimated ;  and  this  overestimation  seems  to  be  due  to  an 
attraction  of  the  eye,  as  it  follows  the  horizontal  line  inward 
toward  the  oblique  lines.  An  inattentive  consciousness  of 
these  movements  seems  to  be  part  of  a  consciousness  of  form. 

2.    The  Consciousness  of  Three-dimensional  Form 

The  consciousness  of  three-dimensional  or  depth  form  has 
still  to  be  discussed.**  I  am  conscious  not  only  of  rectilinear 
and  circular  figures,  but  of  cubical  and  spherical  forms. 
Our  present  problem  concerns  the  nature  and  the  conditions 


The  Consciousness  of  Form  73 

of  this  experience  of  depth.  Some  psychologists  hold  that  it 
is  an  elementary  experience,  differing  from  the  consciousness 
of  surface-extensity  somewhat  as  the  consciousness  of  red 
difTers  from  that  of  green.  The  more  usual  and,  in  the  view 
of -the  writer,  the  truer  opinion  is  the  following:  The  con- 
sciousness of  depth-form  is  not  an  elementary  and  unanalyz- 
able  experience;  rather,  it  is  a  consciousness  of  two-dimen- 
sional form  fused  with  a  very  complex  but  very  vague  con- 
sciousness of  the  bodily  movements  necessary  for  apprehen- 
sion of  the  object.  These  movements  are  either  movements 
of  the  body-as-a-whole,  or  (in  the  case  of  such  three-dimen- 
sional objects  as  are  within  grasp)  movements  of  arm  and 
hand  outward  from  the  body.  Thus,  the  consciousness  of 
the  three-dimensional  form  of  a  house  includes  a  conscious- 
ness of  my  body  moving  toward  it  and  around  it;  anrl  the 
consciousness  of  the  depth-form,  the  specifically  cylindrical 
character,  of  a  barrel  probably  includes  a  dim  consciousness 
of  the  movements  by  which  I  explore  its  form,  as  out- 
ward from  my  body.  The  notable  feature  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  solid  or  depth-form  is  thus  not  the  occurrence  or  con- 
sciousness of  bodily  movements,  —  for  this  belongs  also  to 
the  experience  of  surface-form,  —  but  the  realized  character 
of  these  movements  as  either  motions  of  the  body-as-a-whole 
or  as  movements  of  one  of  the  limbs  from  or  toward  Lhe  rest 
of  the  body. 

It  is  important  to  realize  that  thisconsciousness  of  the  bodv, 
which  is  so  inherent  a  part  of  the  consciousness  of  depth, 
is  not  instinctive  l)ut,  rather,  very  gradually  developed.  T, 
grown-ujj  ])erson,  feel  —  let  us  say  —  the  pressure  of  one  hand 
which  I  lay  upon  the  other.  The  Httle  baby  may  make  a 
I>recisely  similar  movement  of  liis  liand  and  may  gain  a  pre- 


74  ^   First  Book  in  Psychology 

ciscly  similar  touch  consciousness.  But  he  has  not  yet  con- 
sciousness of  his  hand  or  of  his  body;  that  is  to  say,  he  does 
not  connect  the  visual  consciousness  (the  'look')  with  the 
tactual  consciousness  (the  '  feel')  of  his  hand  at  rest ;  nor  does 
he  connect  the  tactual  consciousness,  due  to  excitation  of 
joint  and  muscle,  of  his  moving  hand  with  the  visual  appear- 
ance of  it.  Indeed  he  does  not  realize  the  identity  of  hand  at 
rest  with  moving  hand ;  and  still  less  is  he  conscious  of  any 
connection  between  hand,  foot,  and  head.  Not  till  the  baby 
becomes  conscious  of  all  these  experiences  as  related,  and  as 
relatively  permanent,  or  reproducible,  has  he  a  consciousness 
of  his  hand ;  and  in  similar  fashion  he  must  gain  the  conscious- 
ness of  other  parts  of  the  body,  and  of  the  body  as  a  unified 
whole. 

An  important  condition  of  the  depth  consciousness  is  the 
occurrence  of  right  and  left  eye  images  differing  slightly. 
The  experience  of  closing  first  one  eye,  then  the  other,  when 
looking  directly  at  a  solid  object,  will  convince  every  one  that 
the  right  'sees'  slightly  more  to  the  right  of  a  given  object, 
the  left  eye  rather  more  to  the  left  of  the  object.  The  facts 
of  stereoscopy  ^  prove  that  the  simultaneous  occurrence  of 
such  images  is  folio wxd  by  the  depth  consciousness;  for  in 
looking  through  a  stereoscope  with  eyes  unmoving  and 
parallel,  pictures  drawn  separately  for  right  and  for  left  eye 
fall  upon  the  two  retinas;  and  I  see  the  pictured  object  as 
single  and  solid.*  The  occurrence  of  right  and  left  images 
is  not,  however,  an  essential  or  invariable  condition  of  the 
consciousness  of  tridimensional  form,  for  experiment  shows 
that,  with  one  eye  closed,  T  may  perceive  depth.  In  this  case 
a  muscular  change  in  the  accommodation,  and  thus  in  the 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  212  fi.;  Seashore,  p.  53;  Titchener,  §  42. 


Localization  75 

icfractivcncss,  of  the  eve  may  eondition  the  depth  experience; 
or  some  visual  character,  perhaps  the  distribution  of  shadow 
on  the  object,  may  suggest  it.* 

d.     Localization :    The  Consciousness  of  Position 

My  spatial  consciousness  includes,  finally,  the  consciousness 
of  ])osition.  1  am  conscious  not  only  that  the  paper  is  oblong 
and  the  ink-bottle  cubical;  but  also  that  the  ink-bottle  lies 
behind  the  paper  and  to  the  right  of  the  letter-scale.  I  am 
conscious  also  that  the  date  of  my  letter  is  written  above  the 
signature ;  I  am  conscious  that  the  palm  of  my  hand  is  touched 
near  the  thumb  by  a  heated  object,  and  touched  near  the 
little  finger  by  a  cold  object;  finally,  I  am  perhaps  conscious 
that  a  piano  is  being  played  above  me. 

It  is  evident  that  cases  of  localization  fall  into  two  classes: 
of  three-dimensional  and  two-dimensional  localization,  as  wc 
name  them.  The  experience  of  the  horizon  or  of  the  stars 
or  of  the  outgoing  ship  as  far  away  from  me,  and  the  ex- 
perience of  the  ink-bottle  as  behind  the  paper,  or  of  the  desk  as 
beyond  "the  chair,  are  cases  of  three-dimensional  localization. 
Experiences  of  the  signature  as  below  the  date,  or  of  the  cold 
object  as  inward  from  the  warm  object,  are  instances  of  the 
consciousness  of  two-dimensional  position.  Localization  of 
either  sort  differs  from  the  consciousness  of  form,  in  that  it 
emphasizes  apartness  rather  than  unification.  Yet  localiza- 
tion, the  consciousness  of  position,  is  more  than  mere  con- 
sciousness of  apartness,  for  one  is  sometimes  conscious  of 
objects  as  apart  without  being  conscious  of  their  position. 
One  is  sometimes  conscious,  for  example,  of  the  spatial 
distinctness  of  two  stimulated   points  of  the  skin  without 

*  Cf.  below,  pp.  77  ff. 


76  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

being  able  to  designate  either  one  as  above  or  below, 
right  or  left,  of  the  other.  In  truth,  the  consciousness  of 
position  includes,  besides  the  bare  realization  of  apartness,  a 
specific  consciousness,  emphasized  or  unemphasized,  of  the 
body  or  of  parts  of  the  body.  Thus,  'up'  means  'near  the 
head, '  and  conversely, '  down '  means '  near  the  feet.'  *  Right ' 
means  'toward  the  more  readily  moving  hand.'  'Out'  and 
'in,'  'in  front'  and  'behind,'  are  terms  used  with  reference 
to  the  bodv  as  a  whole  in  its  relation  to  the  field  of  vision. 

The  difference  between  the  two  sorts  of  localization  has  been 
suggested  in  the  last  paragraph.  Three-dimensional  local- 
ization —  the  consciousness  that  the  mountain  is  far  away, 
that  the  sound  is  behind  me  —  is  a  consciousness  of  the  apart- 
ness of  an  object  from  my  body,  and  includes  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  movement  imagined,  initiated,  or  completed,  of  my 
whole  body  (or  of  a  limb  'outward'  from  my  whole  body). 
Thus,  the  consciousness  that  the  sky  is  over  me  includes  a 
vague  consciousness  of  my  body  floating  upward,  and  the 
consciousness  that  the  cake  plate  is  in  front  of  me  includes  the 
movement,  or  tendency  to  movement,  of  my  arm  toward  the 
cake  plate.  In  its  developed  form,  three-dimensional  locali- 
zation involves  a  consciousness  of  three-dimensional  space,  an 
image  gradually  built  up  by  the  imagined  addition  of  distance 
to  distance,  in  all  directions,  from  my  body.  Two-dimen- 
sional localization,  the  consciousness,  for  example,  that  the 
red  stripe  of  the  plaid  is  above  the  blue  one,  is  conditioned  by- 
movement  (complete  or  incomplete,  imagined  or  perceived) 
of  eye  or  of  hand;  but  this  movement  is  not  an  outward 
movement,  and  the  consciousness  of  body-as-a-whole  and  of 
space-as-a-wholc  is  lacking. 

Three-dimensional  localization  in  space  —  the  conscious- 


Localization  77 

ncss  of  objects  as  near  or  far  from  my  body,  as  in  front  or 
l)ehin(l,  to  right  or  to  left  of  me  —  is  of  great  Ijiologieal  sig- 
nificance. An  animal  able  to  react  promptly  and  accurately 
to  the  sight,  sound,  or  touch  which  reveals  the  jjresence  of 
dangerous  foe,  of  friend,  or  of  mate  is  evidently  favored  in  the 
struggle  for  existence.  It  follows  that  the  localizing  reactions, 
and  the  consciousness  of  them,  must  have  been  advanced 
by  the  extinction  of  poor  localizers  and  by  the  preservation 
and  propagation  of  good  ones. 

Visual  localization  is  conditioned  by  muscular  changes, 
chiefly  of  two  kinds.  When  (within  certain  limits)  an  object 
is  moved  nearer  or  farther  from  the  eyes,  there  is  first  a  change 
in  'accommodation,'  ^  that  is,  in  the  contraction  of  the 
ciliary  muscle,  such  that  the  crystalline  lens  of  the  eye  either 
bulges  farther  forward  or  is  more  flattened,  thus  becoming 
more  or  less  refractive  as  the  object  is  nearer  or  farther ;  there 
is,  second,  a  change  in  the  convergence  of  the  two  eyes  such 
that  the  angle  of  convergence  is  more  or  less  acute  according 
as  the  object  is  farther  or  nearer.®  As  I  look,  for  example, 
from  the  sail  on  the  horizon  to  the  rosebush  at  my  window- 
sill,  my  eyes  converge. 

Other  conditions  of  the  consciousness  of  visual  distance  are, 
first,  the  occurrence  of  dilTering  retinal  images,*  and  second, 
a  number  of  so-called  'signs'  of  distance,  notably:  (i)  the 
distribution  of  shadows,  (2)  the  apparent  interference  of  inter- 
vening objects,  and  (3)  mistiness  of  the  atmosphere.  The 
significance  of  these  factors  may  be  shown  in  many  ways. 
Thus,  a  mask,  hollow  side  to  the  observer,  if  so  placed  that 

*  Cf  p.  75,  above;  and  note  that  changes  in  accommodation  and  con- 
vergence may  condition  consciousness  of  the  depth-form  as  well  as  of  the  posi- 
tion of  an  object  in  space. 


A   First  Book  in  Psychology 


no  shadows  arc  cast  inside  it,  will  seldom  look  concave;  the 
arch  in  the  design  here  outlined  seems  to  lie  behind  the  pillar ; 
and,  since  far-away  objects  appear  hazy,  hills  and  trees  and 
houses  look  farther  away  on  a  misty  day,  while  the  horizon  line 
seems  almost  to  strike  one  in  the  face  on  a  very  clear  day.  That 
is,  indeed,  a  reason  why  painters  love  foggy  clays  and  misty 

landscapes  more  than  the  high 
lights  and  brutal  frankness  of 
phenomenally  clear  atmospheres. 
In  no  one  of  these  cases  is  the 
consciousness  of  shadows,  of 
intervening  objects,  or  of  hazi- 
ness a  constituent  of  the  experi- 
ence of  depth.  Rather,  these 
experiences  have  so  often  accom- 
panied the  depth  consciousness 
that  they  at  once  excite,  or  suggest,  it. 

Auditory  localization  has  next  to  be  considered  —  the 
experience,  for  example,  that  a  mosquito  is  buzzing  behind 
me  or  that  a  street-car  is  approaching  from  the  right.  Such 
localization  may  be  described  as  consciousness  of  the  position 
of  a  sounding  object  as  above  or  below,  before  or  behind,  to 
right  or  to  left,  of  my  body :  it  includes  a  vague  consciousness 
of  a  more  or  less  incomplete  movement  toward  the  sounding 
object.  Recent  experimental  investigations  have  concerned 
themselves  with  the  nature  and  the  conditions  of  auditory 
localization. ^^  It  has  been  experimentally  established  that 
sounds  from  the  right  are  never  confused  with  sounds  from 
the  left,  that  sounds  from  in  front  are  constantly  confused 
with  sounds  from  behind,  and  yet  that  two  sounds,  close  to- 
gether, are  best  discriminated  when  given  in  front  or  behind. 


Fig.  s.  —  (From  Sanford,  "  Ex 
perimental  Psychology,"  p.  205.) 


1 

Localization  79 

These  facts  arc  best  explained  by  llu-  liypothesis,  experi- 
mentally tested,  that  the  chief  conch'tion  of  the  consciousness 
of  auditory  position  is  the  comparative  intensity  of  sounds 
as  stimulating  the  right  and  the  left  ears.  A  sound  from 
the  right  stimulates  the  organs  of  the  right  ear  strongly, 
those  of  the  left  ear  fainlly;  and  it  calls  out  a  mo\'ement  or 
tendency  to  moNcment  of  the  head  toward  the  right.  On  the 
contrary,  a  sound  from  exactly  in  front  and  a  sound  from 
behind  stimulate  right  and  left  ears  with  equal  intensity  and 
are  readily  confused.  Two  sounds,  fmally,  given  close  to- 
gether, in  front  or  behind,  are  well  discriminated  because  a 
change  in  the  ratio  of  intensities,  received  by  the  two  ears 
from  sounds  which  readily  reach  both,  is  easily  perceptible. 
The  measurement  of  the  mere  distance  or  apartness  of  sounds 
from  my  body  is  mainly,  as  experiments  have  shown,  an 
inference  from  the  greater  or  less  intensity  of  the  sounds; 
though  the  consciousness  of  differences  in  timbre  may  con- 
tribute also  to  the  distance  consciousness.* 

The  main  results  of  this  chapter  may  well  be  summarized 
in  a  concluding  paragraph:  The  significant  elemental  con- 
stituents of  the  space-consciousness  have  been  found  to  be: 
first,  the  sensational  consciousness  of  extensity;  second,  re- 
lational experiences  primarily  of  distinctness  and  of  unifica- 
tion; third,  the  tactual  sensational  experiences  due  to  move- 
ments of  the  body.  The  successive  stages  of  the  spatial 
consciousness,^  it  has  appeared,  are,  first,  the  consciousness  of 
mere  aj)artness  —  a  consciousness  of  extensity  intervening 
between  two  colors  or  between  two  pressures;  second,  the 
consciousness  of  form,  or  unification  of  separated  [joints; 
third,  the  consciousness  of  position  either  of  objects  apart 
*  For  experiments,  cf.  Seashore,  Chapter  V. 


8o  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

from  the  body  or  of  objects  apart  from  each  other.  The 
consciousness  of  one's  body  and,  in  particular,  of  bodily 
movements  has  been  shown  to  be  an  important  factor  in  the 
consciousness  of  position  and  of  depth. 

The  discovery  of  the  importance  of  movement  as  concHtion 
of  the  space-consciousness,  with  the  reahzation  that  a  con- 
sciousness of  movement  is  part  of  many  spatial  experiences, 
has  given  rise  to  a  mistaken  analysis  of  the  consciousness  of 
space  —  a  denial  of  the  occurrence  of  any  elemental  con- 
sciousness of  extensity.  According  to  this  view,  the  conscious- 
ness of  color  or  of  pressure  as  'extended,'  'big,'  or  'spread 
out'  consists  solely  in  a  consciousness  of  bodily  movements 
gained  by  experience  of  the  colored  or  tactual  objects.  This 
'empiricist'  account  of  the  spatial  consciousness  must,  how- 
ever, be  rejected."  In  the  first  place,  it  contradicts  intro- 
spection, to  which  the  bigness,  or  spread-outness,  of  an  object 
surely  is  as  distinct  and  unanalyzable  a  character  as  its 
Ijlueness.  The  empiricist  doctrine  is  in  opposition,  also,  to 
the  results  of  experiments  on  persons  who  have  recovered, 
through  operation,  from  total  congenital  blindness.  Such 
persons  are  able  to  recognize  at  once  a  difference  between 
round  and  square  objects,  seen  and  not  touched.  The  em- 
piricist theory  —  that  the  extensity  consciousness  consists  in 
the  consciousness  of  eye  or  of  hand  movements  —  is  founded 
on  a  correct  analysis  of  our  consciousness  of  form  and  of 
position,  and  on  the  correct  observation  that  we  learn,  by 
experience  only,  to  estimate  sizes  and  to  measure  our  move- 
ments to  the  actual  distances  of  objects.  But  the  proof  of 
the  significance  of  movement  and  the  consciousness  of  move- 
ment, in  our  complex  and  developed  consciousness  of  space, 


The  Consciousness  of  Harmony  8i 

is  no  disprooi  of  the  occurrence  of  the  elemental  experience 
of  cxtensity. 

II.    The  Consciousness  of  Harmony 

A  second  perceptual  experience  of  combination  with  dif- 
ferentiation —  a  consciousness,  as  Ebbinghaus  calls  it,  of 
'unity  in  diversity'  —  is  that  of  auditory  harmony."  This 
consciousness  of  the  differentiated  unity  of  tones  must  be  dis 
tinguishcd  carefully  from  tonal  fusion.  When  one  vibrating 
body,  a  string,  rod,  or  plate  of  some  musical  instrument,  is 
set  into  motion,  the  untrained  listener  is  conscious  of  a  tonal 
fusion,  a  sound  in  which  he  does  not  distinguish  different 
elements  of  pitch,  but  hears  only  the  one  pitch.  The  tone 
which  he  hears  may,  to  be  sure,  be  different  from  that  which 
he  would  hear  if  the  string  vibrated  only  as  a  whole;  but 
he  knows  this  difference  (if,  indeed,  he  is  aware  of  it  at  all) 
as  voluminousness  or  timbre,  not  as  a  combination  of  differ- 
ent pitch-elements.*  The  trained  listener,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  conscious  of  a  unity  of  differentiated  elements ;  and  among 
these  he  recognizes  not  a  single  pitch,  but  several.  These 
distinct  elements  of  pitch  are  due  to  the  fact  that  the  vibrat- 
ing body  \ibrates  both  as  a  whole  and  also  (more  swiftly)  in 
sections.! 

It  thus  appears  that,  for  the  trained  listener,  consciousness 
of  harmony,  that  is,  of  a  unity  of  different  pitch-elements,  is 
produced  by  the  vibration  in  sections  of  a  single  vibrating 
body.  In  place  of  a  fusion  he  experiences  that  combination 
of  a  lower,  stronger  tone,  the  fundamental,  with  one  or  more 
higher  tones  called  overtones,  partials,  or  harmonics.     The 


*  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  87  a. 
t  For  experiment,  rf.  Sanford,  88. 


82  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

lowest  of  these  overtones  is  always  at  least  an  octave  higher 
than  the  fundamental,  ilial  is  to  say,  its  vibration-rate  is 
twice  as  great.  For  exam]^le,  if  the  C-string  of  a  violin  be 
vibrated,  the  trained  listener  may  hear  a  combination  of  the 
pitch-element  C,  its  octave  c,  the  g  above  the  octave,  and  the 
c,  e,  and  g  of  the  next  higher  octave. 

(2)  But  untrained  as  well  as  trained  listeners  are  conscious 
of  harmony  when,  in  the  second  place,  combinations  of  air- 
waves are  due  to  the  simultaneous  vibration  of  several  dif- 
ferent bodies,  instead  of  being  due  to  the  sectional  vibration 
of  a  single  body  —  string,  rod,  or  plate.*  The  consciousness 
of  harmony  is,  in  fact,  physically  conditioned  by  a  combina- 
tion of  air-waves  such  that  their  vibration  numbers  stand  to 
each  other  in  uncomplicated  ratios  as  1:2  or  2:3.  The 
vibration  ratios  of  the  modern  musical  octave  are :  — 

CDEFGABC 

8      9    10  lof  12  13!^  15   16 

The  so-called  perfect  intervals  are  accordingly:  the  oc- 
tave (C-c),  the  fifth  (C-G),  and  the  fourth  (C-F),  with 
vibration  ratios  of  i :  2,  2  :  3,  and  3  :  4,  respectively.  (To  the 
untrained  listener  the  octave,  even  when  produced  by  the 
vibrations  of  different  bodies,  is  ordinarily  a  fusion,  not  a  har- 
mony —  in  other  words,  the  two  pitch-elements  are  not  dis- 
tinguished.) 

Besides  these  perfect  intervals  or  experiences  of  harmony, 
there  are  also  the  'imperfect  intervals'  conditioned  by  the 
major  third  (C-E),  the  minor  third  (C-t?E),  the  major  sixth 
(C-A),  and  the  minor  sixth  (C-t^A),  with  vibration  ratios, 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  45.  For  consideration  of  beats  and 
combination-tones,  cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  20. 


The  Consciousness  of  Rhythm  and  of  Melody        83 

rcs])ccti\'cl}-,  of  4  :  5,  5  :  6,  3  :  5,  and  5  :  S.  In  tlirsc  c\])CTiences 
the  consciousness  of  the  difference  of  the  tones  is  rehiti\ely 
eni])hasi/e(l.  W'lien  tliis  consciousness  of  difference  obliter- 
ates, or  almost  obliterates,  that  of  unity,  the  agrecableness 
characteristic  of  the  consciousness  of  harmony  disapj^ears,  and 
we  have  the  experience  of  discord  or  disharmony,  conditioned 
bv  the  union  of  air-waves  of  complicated  xiljralion-ratios.'" 
The  principal  discordant  intervals,  with  their  vibration-ratios, 
arc  the  major  second  (C-D),  the  minor  second  (C-f?D), 
the  major  seventh  (C-B),  and  the  minor  seventh  (C-;^B), 
with   the  vibration  ratios  8  :  q,    15  :  16,  8:15,   g  :  16. 

The  nature  of  the  physiological  processes,  excited  in  the 
end-organs  of  the  ear  by  these  combinations  of  air-waves, 
and  the  nature  of  the  cerebral  processes,  assumed  to  condi- 
tion the  experiences  of  unity  and  of  difference,  are  still 
tojjics  of  conjecture  rather  than  of  established  hypothesis. 
The  occurrence,  however,  of  the  consciousness  of  the  har- 
mony of  different  tones  is  indisputable. 

III.    The  Consciousness  of  Rhythm  and  of  Melody 

One  is  conscious  of  rhythm*-  in  dancing,  reading  poetry, 
playing  an  instrument,  and  in  watching  the  dance  and  listen- 
ing to  poem  or  to  music*  Such  an  experience  of  rhythm 
is  a  consciousness  of  the  regular  alternation  of  temporally 
distinct  sense-phenomena,  either  bodily  movements  or  sounds. 
It  is  based  on  the  alternation  of  regularly  varying  bodily 
processes  —  in  particular,  on  the  alternations  of  short  inspira- 
tion with  long  exjMration,  and  of  strong  with  weak  pressures 
in  walking.     To  quote  from  Professor  Titchener :  ".\swerun 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  Titrhcncr,  §  46:  My  rs,  op.  cit.,  ExiJS.  145-146. 


84  ^1   First  Book  in  Psychology 

or  walk,  the  legs  swing  alternately,  and  with  each  leg  swings 
the  arm  of  the  opposite  side.  Here  we  have  the  basis  of  the 
idea  of  rhythm;  a  strong  sensation-mass  from  the  leg  whose 
foot  rests  upon  the  ground,  the  leg  that  carries  the  weight  of 
the  body,  followed  at  equal  intervals  by  a  weak  sensation-mass 
from  the  leg  that  swings  through  the  air.  ...  As  the  leg 
swings,  the  arm  swings;  and  at  the  moment  that  the  foot 
is  set  down,  the  arm  pulls  with  its  full  weight  upon  the 
shoulder.   .  ,   ."  * 

These  natural  tactual  rhythms  are,  however,  mere  alter- 
nations of  two  bodily  phases.  Dance-rhythms  and  auditory 
rhythms  —  regular  alternations  of  sounds,  weaker  and 
stronger,  longer  and  shorter,  are  capable  of  much  greater 
variation  and  are  consequently  far  more  complex.  The  unit 
of  musical  rhythm  is  a  measure;  measures  are  combined  in 
phrases;  and  phrases  are  grouped  in  musical  periods.  The 
unit  of  word-rhythm  is  a  poetic  foot;  and  verse  and  stanza 
are  progressively  complex  combinations  of  poetic  feet.  The 
consciousness  of  these  more  complex  rhythms  is  an  experience 
of  group  within  group. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  auditory  and  motor  rhythms 
are  normally  combined.  The  chorus-dance,  out  of  which  the 
drama  developed,  is  an  expression  of  this  close  relation  be- 
tween the  sensory  and  the  motor  nerve  structures,  which  we 
illustrate  whenever  we  keep  time,  with  hand  or  foot,  to  music. 

The  consciousness  of  melody  is  a  complex  experience  of  a 
rhythmic  series  of  harmonious  tones  in  which  the  harmony 
is  successive,  not  simultaneous.  As  in  the  case  of  the  rhythm- 
consciousness,  the    unified    terms    are    temporally    distinct. 

*  "A  Primer  of  Psychology,"  revised  edition,  1899,  §  47. 


Perception  as  Combination  85 

Fundamental,  therefore,  to  both  experiences,  that  of  rhythm 
and  of  melody,  is  the  consciousness  of  time,  an  unsensational 
experience  which  will  later  be  discussed.* 

C.    Perception  and  Imagination  as   Combination  of 
Limited  Groups  of  Sense-elements 

The  study  of  all  these  forms  of  perceptual  unity  shows 
clearly  that  in  perception  and  imagination  the  consciousness 
of  unity  and  of  difference  is  combined  with  a  limited  grouj) 
of  sense-elements  —  that  is,  with  a  part  only  of  the  total 
sensational  experience  of  the  moment.  Another  way  of 
stating  this  contrast  between  the  sensational  experience  as 
undifferentiated  total  and  perception  as  limited  complex  is 
in  terms  of  the  oljjcct  of  each.  The  merely  sensational  con- 
sciousness conditioned  by  any  combination  of  physical  stimuli 
has  an  object,  the  undistinguished  mass  of  colors,  sounds,  pres- 
sures, and  the  like.  The  perceptual  consciousness  conditioned 
by  the  same  stimuli  has  differentiated  objects.^  The  distinction 
may  be  illustrated  by  comparing  my  consciousness  at  this 
moment  with  that  of  the  baby  whom  I  am  holding  in  my  arms. 
His  sensational  consciousness  may  be  as  rich  as  my  own,  for 
he  is  sensationally  conscious  of  a  totality  of  colors,  bright- 
nesses, bignesses,  tones,  and  noises;  but  he  has  not  yet  the 
perception  of  objects.  The  object  of  his  consciousness  is, 
rather,  in  the  often-quoted  words  of  James,  a '  great,  blooming, 
buzzing  confusion  of  undistinguished  colors  and  sounds.' 
This  is  an  experience  which  the  adult  occasionally  approxi- 
mates —  for  example,  when  he  enters  from  the  dark  a  brightly 

*  Cf.  Chapter  VIII.,  p.  131. 
t  Cf.  Cliaptcr  v.,  p.  88. 


86  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

lighted  room  and  no  object  stands  out  from  the  dazzHng  con- 
fusion of  hght  and  color;*  or  when,  in  his  first  waking 
moments,  he  is  vaguely  conscious  of  colors,  warmth,  pres- 
sures, and  sounds  which,  as  he  slowly  wakens,  seem  to  range 
and  round  themselves  into  wall,  furniture,  bed-coverings, 
and  knock-upon-thc-door.  In  a  word,  perception,  like  im- 
agination, is  the  consciousness  not  of  an  undifferentiated 
totality  but  of  differentiated  objects.  And  the  differentia- 
tion, the  realization  of  different  groups  of  qualities  as  making 
up  each  distinct  object,  is  plainly  due  to  the  habitual  occur- 
rence of  certain  experiences  in  close  connection.  So,  when 
the  experiences  of  wetness,  whiteness,  warmth,  and  sweetness 
have  often  enough  coincided,  the  baby  has  the  consciousness 
of  milk;  and  when  the  experiences  of  redness,  softness, 
w^oolliness,  and  roundness  have  often  enough  occurred  to- 
gether, he  is  conscious  of  the  ball.  The  outcome  of  this 
chapter  is,  then,  to  amplify  the  account  of  perception  and 
imagination  by  regarding  each  as  the  fusion  and  assimilation 
of  a  limited  group  of  sense-elements  with  the  consciousness  of 
unity  and  of  difference. 

*  Cf.  Judd,  "Psychology:   General  Introduction,"  p.  172. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE     BODILY    REACTIONS    IN    PERCEPTION    AND   IMAGI- 
NATION 

Of  all  so-called  external  ()l)jects,  my  body  stands  in  closest 
relation  to  myself.  It  is  related  also  in  a  twofold  fashion 
to  other  external  objects:  through  its  sense-organs  and 
ingoing  nerves  it  is  affected  by  them;  through  its  out- 
going nerves  and  muscular  contractions  it  affects  them. 
Indeed,  the  physiological  process  initiated  by  the  exci- 
tation of  a  sense-organ  is  unfinished  until  it  is  terminated 
in  a  muscular  contraction;  in  other  words,  a  complete 
physiological  process  is  neither  sensory  nor  motor,  but 
sensori-motor.* 

It  was  shown  in  Chapter  TIT.  that  the  different  modes  of 
sensational  experience  —  visual,  tactual,  and  the  rest  —  are 
marked  off  from  one  another  not  only  by  the  excitation  of 
different  end-organs  and  of  different  cerebral  areas,  but  by 
the  characteristic  bodily  movements — of  eyeball,  hand, 
and  tongue  —  which  accompany  them.  This  chapter  will 
treat  of  perceptual  bodily  reactions  and  will  describe  them 

*  The  student  is  advised  to  read,  in  connection  with  this  chapter  (i)  on 
sensori-motor  reactions  :  J.  R.  Angcll,  "  Psychology',"  Chapter  III.  (2)  On 
habit:  W.  James,  "The  Principles  of  Psycholog)',"  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  IV.,  or 
"  Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  Chapter  X.  (3)  On  instinct:  C.  L.  Morgan, 
"  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,"  Chapter  XL,  or  "  Comparative  Psychol- 
og)'," Chapter  XII.,  or  James,  "The  Principles  of  Psycholog>','"  Vol.  II., 
Chapter  XXIV.,  or  "  Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  Chapter  XXV. 

87 


88  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

as  coordinated,  habitual,  relatively  immediate,  and  impul- 
sive. 

(i)  The  perceptual  reaction  is  distinguished  as  coordi- 
nated, or  unified,  from  the  merely  sensational  movement. 
The  significance  of  this  distinction  will  be  clear  if  one  contrast 
the  behavior  and  the  probable  consciousness  of  a  little  baby 
with  that  of  an  older  child  in  the  presence  of  a  visual  object 
—  let  us  say,  of  a  woolly  red  ball.  The  older  child  fixes  his 
eyes  upon  the  ball,  follows  it,  if  it  is  moved  toward  one  side, 
by  his  eyes  and  his  turning  head,  and  seizes  hold  of  it  if 
it  is  within  reach.  The  week-old  baby,  far  from  fixating  it, 
does  not  ev^en  converge  his  eyes  upon  it,  for  each  eye  still 
moves  more  or  less  independently  of  the  other ;  he  does  not 
turn  his  head  toward  it  if  it  is  moved  away ;  and  though  his 
hands  move  aimlessly  and  may  accidentally  strike  the  ball, 
the  two  hands  do  not  meet  on  the  ball,  and  there  is  no  co- 
ordination of  the  complex  movements  necessary  for  seizing 
it.  Yet  the  baby  is  reacting  to  the  ball :  his  eyeballs  make 
more  movements,  his  hands  flap  more  wildly  than  before  the 
ball  was  held  and  moved  before  him.  Such  a  reaction,  some- 
times called  an  'excess-reaction,'  is  due  to  the  diffusion  of 
incoming  nerve-impulses  over  outgoing  nerves  and  muscles. 
It  differs  as  widely  from  the  unified  and  coordinated  move- 
ment characteristic  of  perception  as  the  sensational  con- 
sciousness of  redness  differs  from  the  perception  of  a  red 
object.* 

(2)  Perceptual  and  therefore  coordinated  bodily  reactions 
tend,  in  the  second  place,  to  be  repeated,  that  is,  to  become 
habitual.  My  reactions,  at  different  times,  to  the  same 
object  or  class  of    objects    are    closely  alike.     I  make  the 

*  Cf.  Chapter  IV.,  p.  85. 


The  Bodily  Reactions  in  Perception  and  Inin'^indlion      89 

same  jaw-movcmcnts  whenever  I  eat,  and  I  hold  and  move 
my  pen  in  the  same  fashion  every  day.  These  habitual 
movements  are,  it  should  be  noticed,  of  twofold  origin  — 
instinctive  or  acquired.*  *  My  pen-mo\'cments  have  been  ac- 
quired, that  is,  learned.  The  movements  which  I  make  in 
eating  are,  on  the  other  hand,  instinctive;  and  this  means 
that  they  are  not  acquired.  So,  a  baby  instinctively  moves 
its  hands  and  eyes,  but  it  acquires  the  movements  of  con- 
vergence and  of  grasping  with  both  hands;  and  a  duck  in- 
stinctively enters  the  water,  but  learns  Ijy  imitation  to  drink. 
Instinctive  reactions  are  racially  hereditary  and  are  severally 
characteristic  of  different  animal  groups.  By  far  the  greater 
number  of  them  become  habitual,  but  some  instinctive  acts  — 
for  example,  the  egg-laying  of  certain  insects  —  are  but  once 
performed.  Instinctive  reactions  may  be  classified,  further, 
as  movements  of  withdrawal  or  of  approach  ;  and  move- 
ments of  approach  are  either  antagonistic  or  cooperative. 
Acquired  reactions  are  of  two  main  types :  movements  learned 
by  imitation  and  reactions  learned  through  purely  individual 
experieftce." 

(3)  From  the  habitualness  of  the  perceptual  reaction  follows 
a  noticeable  character :  its  relative  immediacy.  The  reaction 
which  accompanies  not  only  perception  but  also  many  forms 
of  imagination,  and  even  certain  kinds  of  thinking,  is  rela- 
tively immediate  as  compared  with  the  reactions  distinguish- 
ing reasoning  and  choice.  The  distinction  between  imme- 
diate and  delayed  activity  is,  to  be  sure,  relative  and  not  ab- 
solute, but  is  readily  made  between  extremes  of  the  two  classes. 
Hold  out  an  apple  —  or,  for  that  matter,  a  cateri)illar  —  to 

*  Thcsf  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
divisions  of  the  Appendix,  Section  V. 


go  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

a  baby  of  eight  months:  he  will  ])rom])tly  seize  it  and  carry 
it  to  his  month.  Offer  the  same  dainty  to  a  three-year  old: 
he  will  hesitate.  Memories  of  disagreeable  tastes  or  of  sharp 
penalties  vie  with  the  impulse  to  grasp  at  every  object;  his 
response,  whether  of  advance  or  of  withdrawal,  is  hesitating 
and  delayed.  Or  again,  shut  away  in  a  high  cupboard  the 
lunch  of  a  hungry  dog  and  of  a  hungry  little  boy.  The 
dog's  response  is  immediate :  he  barks,  he  leaps  up  into  the 
air,  he  runs  madly  around  the  room.  For  several  minutes 
the  boy  makes  no  obvious  motion ;  then  he  slowly  piles  foot- 
stool into  chair,  climbs  up  and  tries  to  open  the  cupboard 
door  —  again  a  case  of  delayed  as  contrasted  with  relatively 
immediate  reaction.  These  are  examples  of  advantageously 
delayed  reactions.  In  many  situations,  on  the  other  hand, 
immediate  perceptual  reactions,  to  dangerous  or  to  momen- 
tarily favorable  environment,  are  of  crucial  importance  for 
the  individual  and  for  the  race. 

(4)  The  observation  that  the  perceptual  reaction  is  relatively 
immediate  must  not  lead  to  a  confusion  of  it  with  the  reflex 
reaction.  A  reflex  act  is  an  act  which  follows  on  a  stimulus 
without  intervening  consciousness.  It  may  be  consciously 
performed;  in  other  words,  it  may  be  accompanied  by  con- 
sciousness, but  it  is  not  excited,  or  invariably  preceded  by, 
consciousness,  I  sip  my  coffee  at  the  sight  of  the  brimming 
cup  and  I  move  my  fan  to  the  sound  of  the  music,  that  is  to 
say,  a  unified  consciousness  of  the  object  precedes  my  reaction 
to  it.  In  technical  terms,  my  perceptual  reaction  is  impulsive, 
not  reflex;  although  the  consciousness  of  reaction  is  a  con- 
stituent of  the  complete  perception. 

This  statement  leads  to  a  final  distinction.  A  perceptual 
reaction,  though  impulsive,  is  not  volitional.    To  pick  up  one's 


The  Bodily  Reactions  in  Perception  and  Imagination     91 

handkiTcliicf  when  one  has  dropped  it  is  an  impulsive  act 
following  on  the  consciousness  of  it  as  it  lies  on  the  ground ; 
to  throw  one's  handkerchief  to  the  lions  (after  the  fashion  of 
the  lady  in  the  i)oem),  that  one's  lover  may  risk  his  life  to 
snatch  it  from  them,  is  a  volitional  act.  Or,  again,  to  j)ick  up 
mv  cards  from  the  table  is  an  impulsive  act,  whereas  to  dis- 
card from  a  strong  and  not  from  a  weak  suit  is  a  volitional 
act.  The  distinction  is  readily  stated.  Both  perceptual 
and  volitional  reaction  arc  conditioned  by  consciousness; 
in  technical  terms,  both  are  ideo-motor  acts.  But  only  the 
volitional,  not  the  perceptual,  act  is  planned  or  anticipated. 
1  do  not  say  to  myself:  "I  will  drink  this  coffee,  or  move  this 
fan,"  but  the  bare  sight  of  coffee  or  of  fan  excites  the  habitual 
reaction.  The  perceptual  reaction  is  sometimes,  indeed, 
opposed  to  my  will.  For  example,  I  may  drink  the  coffee 
in  si)itc  of  having  definitely  planned  to  delay  coffee-drinking 
unfit  after  taking  my  tonic ;  and  I  may  find  myself  moving 
my  fan,  even  though  I  am  deeply  principled  against  keeping 
time  to  music. 

A  tabular  summary  of  bodily  reactions  may  conveniently 
conclude  this  chapter :  — 

BODILY   REACTIONS 

.'I.     Rkflkx  Movements 

(Immediate:  following  on  stimulus  without  intervening  consciousness.) 
I.    Uncoordinated  reactions      ]  a.   Without  consciousness. 

[Performed. 
II.    Coordinated  reactions  J  6.   With  consciousness. 

1.  Once  performed  (Instinctive). 

2.  Habitual  (or  Repeated).  ^ 

{a)  Instinctive. 
(/.)  Acquired. 


92  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

B.     Ideo-motor  Movements 

(With  antecedent  consciousness;   coordinated;   repeated.) 
I.    Impulsive  movements. 

(Unpremeditated;   relatively  immediate.) 
II.    Volitional. 

(Premeditated ;   delayed.) 

a.  Simple. 

b.  Deliberative. 


CHAPTER   VI 

ATTENTION 

I.   The  Nature  of  Attention 

Every  one  knows  that  there  is  a  distinction  between 
attention  and  inattention*  Our  special  problem,  at  this 
stage  of  our  study,  is  the  nature  of  attentive  perception  and 
imagination;  but  even  now  we  realize  that  attention  is  a 
factor  also  of  other  experiences.  We  may  profitably  begin 
our  study  by  an  illustration  of  perceptual  attention.  Sup- 
pose that  I  am  perched  on  a  rock,  on  a  sunny  September 
afternoon,  lazily  looking  off  upon  a  quiet  sea,  dotted  here  and 
there  with  gleaming  sails,  some  near  the  shore,  others  on  the 
liorizon.  I  am  awake  and  open-eyed,  receptively  and  sensa- 
tionally conscious.  In  a  word,  I  am  perceiving.  Now  sup- 
j)Ose  that  a  sloop  comes  into  view  around  the  rocky  headland 
at  my  left,  I  am  no  longer  im])artially  conscious  of  sea  and 
of  boat ;  nor  do  my  eyes  wander  idly  from  horizon  to  shore  and 
from  shore  to  horizon  again.     Rather  I  bend  forward  and  fix 

*  Before  reading  farther,  the  student  should  answer,  in  writing,  the  follow- 
ing questions:  (i)  Name  two  things  to  which  you  naturally  (without  train- 
ing) gave  attention.  (2)  Name  two  subjects  to  which  you  have  learned  to 
attend.  (3)  What  bodily  movements  anfl  attitudes  characterize  your  atten- 
tion to  a  faint  sound  ?  (4)  What  bodily  movements  and  attitudes  character- 
ize a  dog's  attention  to  a  faint  sound?  (5)  Describe,  in  full,  your  attentive 
consciousness  (a)  of  the  irregularity  in  contour  of  the  period  at  the  end  of  this 
sentence;  and  (6)  of  the  boundaries  of  the  state  of  New  York  (as  you  now, 
in  imagination,  bound  the  stale). 

93 


94  ^4   First  Book  in  Psychology 

my  eyes  uijon  the  sloop ;  or,  to  use  the  everyday  expression, 
I  concentrate  my  consciousness  on  the  boat  and,  so  long  as 
it  remains  in  view,  I  am  not  in  the  same  way  conscious  of  any- 
thing else.  In  other  words,  I  attend  to  the  boat.  And  to- 
morrow, when  I  am  altogether  unable  to  tell  whether  the  rocks 
in  the  foreground  were  brown  or  gray  and  whether  the  sky 
was  clear  or  cloudy,  I  shall  remember  that  the  boat  was  a 
yawl-rigged  schooner  with  a  black  hull. 

But  though  it  is  relatively  easy  to  describe  an  attentive 
experience,  its  bodily  accompaniments,  and  its  psychic  effects, 
it  will  be  found  impossible  to  define  that  special  factor  of  the 
experience  which  is  known  as  attention.^*  Rather,  as  most 
psychologists  implicitly  admit,  attention  is  an  elemental,  a 
further  unanalyzable  and  an  indescribable  sort  of  conscious- 
ness. We  realize  it  best  by  contrasting  it  with  the  inattentive 
consciousness,  for  example,  with  the  drowsy  consciousness, 
or  with  our  normal  consciousness  of  objects  which  stimulate 
only  the  outer  zones  of  the  retina.  But  we  cannot  define 
attention  or  reduce  it  to  more  elemental  constituents.  At- 
tention —  is  just  attention. 

One  further  statement  may  be  made.  Attention,  though 
elemental,  seems  not  to  be  sensational.^  On  the  side  of 
physiological  condition  it  is  distinguished  by  the  lack  of  any 
specific  end-organ;  and,  apart  from  this  physiological  dis- 
tinction, attention  differs  from  sensation  by  being  some- 
times present,  sometimes  absent,  from  our  consciousness. 
In  other  words,  we  sometimes  attend  and,  again,  we  are  in- 
attentive, whereas  we  are  always  sensationally  conscious  even 
when,  as  is  usual,  we  are  more-than-sensationally  conscious. 

*  These  Arabic  numerals,  throue;hout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
divisions  of  the  Appendix,  Section  VI. 


The  Objects  of  Attention  95 

\Vc  take  account  of  these  differences  by  calling  attention  an 
attributi\e  element  of  consciousness.* 

II.   The  Objects  of  Attention 

Since  attention  is  elemental,  —  and  since,  therefore,  we 
cannot  describe  attention,  even  though  we  know  what  it  is, 

—  our  further  study  will  turn  out  to  be  mainly  a  study  not  of 
attention  itself  Init  of  its  objects,  conditions,  and  results.  We 
may  well  begin  by  considering  the  objects  of  attention ;  and 
three  important  statements  must  be  made  about  them. 
{a)  We  may  attend,  in  the  first  place,  to  objects  of  any  kind 

—  personal  or  imj^ersonal,  jniblic  or  private,  externalized 
or  non-externalized,  sensational,  afTective,  or  relational.^  In 
more  concrete  terms :  my  attention  may  be  centred  on  myself 
or  on  my  friend  —  personal  objects,  the  one  private,  the  other 
public;  again,  my  attention  may  be  directed  to  Botticelli's 
"  Pallas,"  or  to  the  emotion  with  which  I  regard  the  picture  — 
both  impersonal  objects,  the  second  private  and  non-external- 
ized, the  other  public  and  externalized;  I  may  attend,  finally, 
to  the  binomial  theorem  or  to  my  lead  pencil  —  both  imper- 
sonal and  public  objects,  but  the  last  only  externalized.  It 
follows  that  all  kinds  of  consciousness,  perception  and  emo- 
tion, thought  and  will,  may  be  '  attentive,'  accom])anied  by 
attention.  Certain  forms  of  consciousness  are  indeed,  as 
will  appear,  necessarily  and  inherently  attentive. 

{h)  The  object  of  attention  is,  in  the  second  place,  always 
a  relatively  stable,  or  persistent,  object.  In  inattentive  per- 
ception, my  eye  moves  from  object  to  object;  in  inattentive 
imagination,  one  image  follows  on  another  in  a  swift  succes- 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XI.,  p.  173;  Chapter  XIL,  p.  223  ;  ami  Apptiulix,  Sec- 
tinn  III.,  §  34. 


96  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

sion.  In  attentive  perception,  on  the  other  hand,  my  eyes  are 
hxed  on  the  unmoved  object  and  move  only  to  follow  the 
moving  thing;  and  in  attentive  imagination  I  linger  over 
the  imaged  object  or  scene.  In  apparent  opposition  to  this 
teaching,  stress  is  sometimes  laid  on  a  fluctuation  in  objects 
of  attention  :  it  is  asserted  that  one  cannot  attend  longer  than 
a  few  seconds  to  any  sense-object.  But  though  it  is  true  that 
the  fixated  color  grows  alternately  bright  and  dull,  and  that 
the  sound  to  which  I  listen  is  now  loud  and  again  soft, 
yet  these  phenomena,  classed  as  fluctuations  of  the  objects 
of  attention,  are  really  only  fluctuations  in  the  intensity  of 
sounds,  colors,  and  the  like.  Such  fluctuations  are  partly 
explained,  perhaps,  by  oscillations  in  the  contraction  of  the 
muscular  apparatus  of  sense-organs,  but  are  mainly  due  to 
'the  oscillatory  character  of  psychophysical  processes  in 
general '  *  —  to  the  rhythmic  changes,  for  example,  in  blood 
pressure. 

It  should  be  added  that  the  object  of  attention  may  be 
stable,  or  prolonged,  while  yet  attention  may  be  relatively 
unstable.  The  object  of  attention  is  always  stable  in  com- 
parison with  a  similar  object  of  the  inattentive  consciousness 
—  for  example,  if  I  attentively  observe  a  tree  from  a  carriage, 
I  turn  my  head  and  prolong  my  view  of  it.  But  my  attention 
during  this  drive  may  well  be  more  unstable,  that  is,  inter- 
rupted by  inattention,  than  the  attention  with  which  I  sit 
rapt  by  some  great  ])icture.  In  its  extreme  form,  prolonged 
attention  is  absorption,  a  complete  merging  of  oneself  in  the 
object  of  one's  consciousness  so  that  the  restless  flow  of 
consciousness  is  checked  and  the  world  narrows  to  the  observ- 
ing self  and  this  one  object.     Esthetic,  logical,  and  purely 

*  C.  S.  Myers,  "Text-Book  of  Experimental  Psychology,"  p.  321. 


The  Objects  of  Allenlion  97 

personal  experiences  arc  characterized  by  attention  in  this 
supreme  form,  and  such  attention  is  always  a  relatively  endur- 
ing consciousness. 

{c)  The  object  to  which  I  attend  is,  in  the  third  place,  a 
part  only,  not  the  whole,  of  the  total  object  of  my  conscious- 
ness at  any  moment.  Thus,  to  recur  to  our  initial  example,  I 
do  not  attend  simultaneously  to  rock  and  ocean  and  sloop. 
On  the  contrary,  while  I  attend  to  the  bellying.  Happing 
canvas  I  am  inattentively  conscious  of  the  sea  and  of  the  rock. 
Or,  to  take  another  example,  I  attend  not  to  the  whole  side 
of  the  room  but  to  the  desk;  perhaps  not  to  the  desk  but 
to  the  polished  brass  inkstand;  or,  finally,  not  even  to 
the  whole  inkstand  but  to  its  carved  griffin-top.  I  may 
even  attend  to  a  single  inseparable  element  or  factor  of  a 
given  object  —  to  the  redness  of  the  rose,  to  the  novelty 
of  my  surroundings,  to  the  pleasantness  of  my  emotional 
experience,  to  the  causal  connection  between  stimulus  and 
movement. 

No  exact  limits  have  been  so  far  set  by  experimental  ob- 
servation to  the  complexity  of  the  object  of  attention.  In 
general,  any  group  of  terms  which  can  be  unified  can  be 
attended  to.  Experimenters,  as  well  as  every-day  observers, 
have  concerned  themselves  with  this  problem,  and  have  i)roved 
abundantly  that  small  objects,  too  numerous  to  be  separately 
attended  to,  are  attentively  jjcrceived  if  combined  into  a  pat- 
tern or  scheme.  If,  for  example,  one  drop  a  screen  for  less 
than  one  quarter  of  a  second  (an  interval  so  short  that  it 
excludes  eye-movements),  thus  exposing  a  surface  on  which 
five  or  six  small  crosses  have  been  drawn,  in  irregular  order, 
one  will  find  that  attentive  observers  often  fail  in  telling  the 
number  of  the  crosses,  whereas  they  can  reproduce  the  figure 


98  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

made  by  the  crosses.  This  shows  that  the  observers  attended 
not  to  the  single  figures  (the  crosses)  but  to  the  complex 
figure,  or  scheme,  composed  of  all  the  crosses.*  About  half  a 
dozen  small  objects  can  thus  be  unified  and  attended  to. 
Some  psychologists  believe  that  we  may  attend  also  to  two  (or 
at  most  to  three)  independent  objects;  and  to  the  introspec- 
tion of  the  writer  this  seems  true.  One  may  train  oneself, 
for  example,  to  attend  simultaneously  to  a  fixated  visual 
object  and  another  object  seen  in  indirect  vision;  and  it  is 
impossible  to  unify  these.  Most  cases,  however,  of  so-called 
'divided'  attention  are  either  instances  of  the  simultaneous 
occurrence  of  attentive  consciousness  and  a  merely  reflex 
action,  —  as  when  one  writes  a  letter  while  one  mechanically 
hums  a  tune  or  repeats  a  series  of  numerals,  —  or  else 
instances  of  alternating  attention.  Julius  Caesar  did  not 
really  dictate  four  letters  while  writing  a  fifth,  but  his 
attention  vibrated  from  one  to  another;  and  the  phe- 
nomenal chess-players  shift  their  attention  from  one  to 
another  of  the  games  which  they  are  said  to  play  '  simul- 
taneously.' t 

Attention  to  part  of  one's  total  object  of  consciousness  of 
course  implies  inattention  to  the  rest.  The  'absent-minded' 
person,  who  is  blind  and  deaf  to  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
his  environment,  is  inattentive  to  them  precisely  because  he 
is  attentive  to  something  else,  for  example,  to  some  imagined 
scene  or  more  ideal  project.  The  narrower  the  object  of  my 
attention,  the  more  'absent-minded'  I  become.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  this  negative  aspect  of  attention,  the  glaring  inatten- 

*  For  other  experiments,  cf.   L.  Witmer,  "Analytic  Psychology,"  p.  54, 
Exp.  XVI.;  Titchener,  §  38,  p.  113  (4);    Seashore,  p.  165  ff. 
t  For  experiment,  cf.  Seashore,  p.  164. 


The  Objects  of  Allenlion  99 

tiveness  of  tlic  ])erson  meanwhile  absorbed  in  emotion  or 
calculation  or  landscape,  is  more  significant  than  his 
attcntiveness. 

((/)  The  discovery  that  one  attends  to  a  part  only  of  the 
total  object  of  consciousness  at  once  suggests  the  question: 
To  what  part  ?  The  answers  to  this  question  may,  perhaps, 
reduce  themselves  to  three.  It  is  a  matter  of  common  obser- 
vation that  I  attend  (i)  to  the  pleasant  or  unpleasant  — for 
example,  to  the  compliment  which  some  one  pays  me  or  to  my 
toothache ;  and  (2)  to  the  novel,  or  unusual,  for  example,  to  the 
figure  of  a  turbaned  Hindu  in  an  Oxford  audience  which  fills 
the  Sheldonian  theatre.  My  attention  to  a  sensationally  in- 
tense object,  for  example,  to  a  thunder-clap,  and  my  attention 
to  a  moving  object,  for  example,  to  a  flying  bird  or  to  a  moving 
signal,  are  cases  of  attention  to  the  surprising  or  unusual. 
B  inally  (3)  I  attend  to  that  part  of  my  total  field  of  conscious- 
ness which  is  connected  with  other  objects  of  my  attention. 
If  I  am  studying  the  problem  of  immigration  from  Southern 
Europe  I  notice  the  most  casual  newspaper  references  to 
Slavs  and  to  Italians,  and  I  remember  the  southern  type  of  this 
or  that  face  in  a  crowd.  If  I  have  hurried  the  carpenters  out 
of  the  house  which  they  are  building  for  me,  by  helping  to 
fill  with  putty  the  holes  left  by  the  nails  in  the  woodwork,  then 
for  weeks  I  mark  the  variations  of  color  between  wood  and 
putty  in  the  wainscotings  and  furnishings  of  the  houses  which 
I  visit.  No  one  of  these  three  characters  invariably  distin- 
guishes the  object  of  attention  —  one  may  attend  to  the  dull 
color  or  the  soft  sound ;  an  object  closely  connected  with  our 
ordinary  interests  may  be  unattended  to;  and  finally  —  though 
psychologists  arc  not  in  agreement  on  this  point  —  one  may 
attend  to  an  object  which  is  neither  jjleasant  nor  unpleasant. 


loo  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

But  though  the  object  of  attention  is  not  inevitably  distin- 
guished by  each  of  these  characters,  it  is  probably  always 
describable  in  at  least  one  of  these  ways :  it  is  pleasant  or 
unpleasant,  or  else  novel,  or  it  is  closely  connected  with 
experience. 

Ill,   The  Classes,  Conditions,  and  Results  of 
Attention 

A  common  classification  of  attention  is  as  (i)  natural  or 
instinctive,  and  (2)  acquired.  It  will  be  observed  that  this 
distinction  does  not  imply  any  difference  in  the  nature  of  the 
two  sorts  of  attention.  Natural  and  acquired  attention  do  not 
differ  at  all,  regarded  merely  as  attention.  The  dift'erence 
lies  simply  in  the  fact  that  attention  of  the  first  sort  is  instinc- 
tive, untaught,  whereas  attention  of  the  second  sort  is  ac- 
quired through  individual  experience  or  through  imitation.* 
All  natural  attention  is  evidently,  therefore,  involuntary. 
Acquired  attention  is  either  involuntary  or  voluntary,  that  is, 
willed.  To  illustrate:  five  minutes  ago  I  was  instinctively 
attentive  to  the  whistle  of  the  incoming  steamer ;  whereas  I 
willed  my  present  acquired  attention  to  this  chapter  on  at- 
tention. If  I  were  attending  neither  to  the  whistle  nor  to 
the  scientific  discussion,  but  to  a  thrilling  page  of  some  novel, 
my  attention  would  be  acquired,  indeed,  —  for  a  printed  page 
is  not  naturally  interesting,  —  but  involuntary.  Natural  at- 
tention is  in  fact  directed  to  objects  which  are  unusual, 
pleasant,  or  unpleasant.  The  objects  of  acquired  attention 
are,  directly  or  indirectly,  connected  or  associated  with  these. 
We  have,  thus,  the  following  classification  of  attention  as  — 

*  Cf.  Chapter  V.,  p.  89. 


The  Classes,  Conditions,  and  Results  of  Attention     loi 

I.    Natural,  or  Instinctive  (always  Involuntary)  to 

a.  The  pleasant  or  unpleasant. 

b.  The  novel. 
II.    Acquired 

Involuntary!  to  the  object  associatively  connected 
Voluntary     J  with  an  object  naturally  attended  to. 

The  relation  between  will  and  attention,  which  is  sometimes 
denied,  will  be  further  discussed  in  a  later  chapter.*  It  is, 
however,  immediately  clear  that  acquired  attention  is  of 
great  practical  significance.  If  our  attention  were  purely  in- 
stinctive, we  should  go  on  through  life  enlarging  our  primary 
childhood  interests  —  absorbed  in  the  objects,  brilliant, 
novel,  or  pleasant,  of  our  immediate  perception.  We  ac- 
quire new  interests  through  our  ability  to  compel  ourselves 
to  attend  to  what  is  normally  uninteresting  and  unattended  to. 
Thus,  voluntary  attention  attests  the  power  of  intellectual 
development.  As  Professor  Barrett  Wendell  says:  "The 
practical  aim  of  a  general  education  is  such  training  as  shall 
enable  a  man  to  devote  his  faculties  intently  to  matters  which 
of  themselves  do  not  interest  him.  The  power  which  enables 
a  man  to  do  so  is  obviously  the  power  of  voluntary,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  spontaneous,  attention." 

Of  the  bodily  conditions  of  attention  there  is  little  to  be 
said.  There  are  evidently  no  end-organ  excitations  of  at- 
tention. And  though  we  are  justified  by  physiological  anal- 
ogy in  postulating  some  special  neural  condition  of  attention, 
the  physiologists  speak  in  vague  and  more  or  less  divergent 
terms  of  the  nature  of  such  a  neural  process.  Some  sort  of 
special  'preparedness  of  brain-centres'  must  be  assumed  to 
exist.  The  characteristic  muscular  contractions  which  ac- 
*  Cf.  Chapter  XIII.,  i>.  227. 


I02  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

company  attention  arc  more  readily  described.  They  arc  of 
two  sorts :  in  the  first  place,  contractions,  usually  instinctive, 
of  the  muscular  apparatus  of  the  sense-organs,  tending  to 
adapt  these  organs  to  the  conditions  of  distinct  consciousness. 
For  example,  wc  instinctively  change  the  convergence  or  the 
accommodation  of  our  eyes  in  order  to  obtain  a  distincter  out- 
line of  the  object  which  interests  us ;  we  turn  our  heads  tow- 
ard the  source  of  the  music  to  which  we  are  attending ;  and 
we  follow  a  moving  object  with  our  eyes.  Muscular  contrac- 
tions of  this  sort  are,  of  course,  peculiar  to  sense-attention. 
A  second  class  of  muscular  contractions  is  characteristic  of 
all  sorts  of  attention  —  such  contractions,  namely,  as  prevent 
disturbing  movements  of  any  sort.  The  rigidity  and  stillness 
of  the  body  is,  indeed,  an  obvious  accompaniment  of  attention. 

In  the  successive  sections  of  this  chapter  attention  has 
been  described  as  elemental  'attributive'  consciousness;  the 
object  of  attention  has  been  distinguished  as  a  relatively 
stable  part  of  the  total  field  of  consciousness  and  as  sensation- 
ally novel,  or  affectively  toned,  or  associatively  connected; 
attention  has  been  distinguished  as  instinctive  or  acquired, 
involuntary  or  voluntary,  and,  finally,  the  bodily  correlates 
of  attention  have  been  indicated.  It  remains  to  speak  briefly 
of  what  may  be  named  the  results  of  attention.  First  and 
most  important  is  the  normal  recurrence  of  the  attentive 
consciousness.  In  concrete  terms,  we  are  likely  to  remember 
what  we  attend  to,  and,  conversely,  we  forget  what  we  inat- 
tentively experience.* 

In  the  second  place,  attention  determines  the  direction  of  my 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  E.  L.  Thorndike,  "The  Elements  of  Psychology," 
p.  107,  Exps.  10  and  11. 


Tlic  Classes,  Conditions,  and  Results  of  Attention      103 

imagining;  it  forms,  in  a  word,  the  starting-point  of  associa- 
tion. The  next  chapter  will  lay  more  stress  on  the  relation 
of  attention  to  association.*  Here  wc  need  merely  name  and 
illustrate  this  connection.  Not  the  whole  experience  of  a 
given  moment,  but  the  emphasized,  that  is,  the  attentive,  part 
of  it  is  likely  to  form  the  starting-point  of  my  imagination. 
For  example,  my  outlook  on  the  view  from  my  window  is 
probably  followed  not  by  the  imagining  of  a  closely  similar 
landscape,  but  by  the  imagination  —  let  us  say  —  of  a  lighted 
Christmas  tree  due  to  my  attentive  consciousness  of  the 
evergreen  tree  near  my  window.  Attention  is  thus  a  con- 
dition alike  of  association  and  of  retention.  The  chapters 
which  follow  will  make  this  more  evident. 

A  word  should  be  said,  in  conclusion,  of  the  relation  be- 
tween interest  and  attention.  The  term  '  interest '  is  best  used 
as  synonym  for  involuntary  attention.  I  am  interested  in  the 
objects  to  which,  without  effort  of  will,  I  attend. 

*  Cf.  p.  114. 


CHAPTER   VII 

PRODUCTIVE    IMAGINATION,     MEMORY,     SUCCESSIVE  AS- 
SOCIATION 

I.   Productive  and  Reproductive  Imagination 

This  chapter  is  devoted  to  the  study  of  imagination  from  a 
new  point  of  view.*  Imagination  has,  up  to  this  point,  been 
described  as  sensational,  unifted,  and  'private'  consciousness 
of  particularized  objects,  and  has  been  classified  according  to 
sense-types.  We  are  now  to  take  account  of  the  distinction, 
practically  and  aesthetically  significant,  between  reproduc- 
tive (or  recurring)  and  productive  (or  inventive)  imagination. 
Relatively  accurate  and  complete  reproductive  imagination  is 
called  memory. 

It  must  at  once  be  noted  that  the  'structural  elements'  of 
imagination  always  are  reproduced  (that  is,  repeated)  and  not 
in  any  sense  'novel.'  They  are  part  of  our  original  endow- 
ment, instinctive  forms  of  consciousness,  as  we  may  call  them. 
I  can  imagine  no  brand-new  color,  and  no  new  taste.  The 
novelty  involved  in  so-called  creative  imagination  is  therefore 
a  novelty  of  combination,  for  one  complex  experience  may 
differ  from  every  previous  one,  though,  taken  singly,  no  ele- 

*  Before  reading  farther,  the  student  should  answer,  in  writing,  the  follow- 
ing questions:  (i)  What  seems  to  you  to  be  the  difference  between  imagining 
and  remembering?  (2)  What  method  would  you  use  in  order  to  memorize 
(u)  the  objects  in  a  Jeweller's  window?  (6)  a  Shakespearian  sonnet? 

104 


Productive  and  Reproductive  Imagination  105 

mcnl  or  part  of  the  '  novel '  experience  is  new.  Every  instance 
of  creative  imagination  illustrates  this  statement.  Jn  imagin- 
ing a  centaur,  one  combines  the  image  of  a  man's  head  with 
that  of  a  horse's  body;  in  inventing  the  telegraph,  Morse 
prolonged  in  imagination  the  image  of  charged  wire,  and  united 
it  with  that  of  vibrating  lever  and  writing  point.  These  are 
instances  of  the  combination  of  images  in  themselves  far 
from  simple.  The  parts  combined  may,  however,  be  much 
less  complex  —  mere  elements  or  very  simple  images. 

The  forms  of  imagination  thus  provisionally  illustrated 
must  be  more  closely  considered.  Of  creative  imagination 
two  main  forms  are  ordinarily  distinguished  :  the  mechanical 
and  the  organic.  The  mechanical  image  is  a  complex,  not  of 
qualities,  but  of  relative  totals,  of  experiences  complete  in 
themselves,  as  if  a  painter  were  to  paint  a  picture  of  Tuscan 
olive  trees  on  a  New  England  hillside.  The  organic  image 
is  a  complex  of  single  elements  or  of  fragmentary  aspects  of 
different  objects,  which  fuse  into  a  new  whole  of  organically 
related  parts.  Within  the  class  of  organic  imagination  one 
may  distinguish,  also,  the  fanciful  from  the  uni\ersal  imagi- 
nation, on  the  ground  that  the  first  lays  stress  on  more 
or  less  bizarre  and  accidentally  interesting  characters,  the 
second  on  essential,  universally  appealing  qualities.  Thus, 
Kipling's  description  of  the  "Workers"  includes  a  bold 
fancy :  — 

"They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas  with  brushes  of  comet's  hair." 

Miss  Jewett  employs  a  similar  figure,  but  the  wide  appeal  of  it 
marks  the  more  universal  imagination:  — 

"Madonna  mia  !  if  in  truth 

Our  Rapliael  from  hea\en's  palaces 


io6  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

Might  lean  across  the  centuries 
Even  he  miglu  find  a  study,  fair 

As  his  last  fresco  in  the  skies, 

Might  pause,  untouched  of  mortal  taint, 
One  infinite  half-hour  to  paint 

The  motherhood  in  your  dear  eyes." 

The  study  of  reproductive  imagination  will  involve  us  in 
more  detail.  It  has  already  been  classified  as  complete  or 
incomplete,  accurate  or  inaccurate.  These  are  relative  terms, 
and  it  is  probable,  of  course,  that  no  case  of  literally  complete 
and  accurate  reproductive  imagination  ever  occurs.  Practi- 
cally complete  and  accurate  imagination  is  called  memory  and 
is,  as  everybody  knows,  a  significant  factor  in  conduct  and  an 
indispensable  basis  for  thought.  The  questions,  "  How  do  I 
remember?"  and  "How  may  I  foster  and,  if  possible,  increase 
my  chance  of  remembering?"  assume,  therefore,  a  practical 
importance  of  high  order.  The  admitted  answer  to  the  first 
of  these  questions  is  as  follows:  "I  remember  through 
association."  The  meaning  of  this  term  we  have  next  to 
discuss. 

II.    The  Nature  of  Association 

Successive  association  is  the  sequence  of  an  imagination 
on  a  perception  (or  another  imagination),  a  sequence  which 
is  attributed  (in  after-reflection)  to  the  previous  occurrence, 
simultaneously  or  in  swift  succession,  of  the  two  experiences.** 

*  The  term  'association'  is  often  used  in  the  sense  of  'successive'  associa- 
tion. For  the  distinction  between  'successive'  and  'simultaneous'  associa- 
tion, cf.  Chapter  IV.,  p.  65,  with  Note,  and  Appendix,  Section  VII.  (§  i). 
The  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  the  chapter,  refer  to  numbered  divisions 
of  the  Appendix,  Section  VII. 


The  Nature  of  Association  107 

For  example,  my  present  memory  of  a  Parisian  dinner-table 
—  the  brightly  lighted  salle-a-niaiigcr,  the  long  table,  the 
white-haired  hostess  —  is  associated  with  my  present  percept 
of  a  knock  on  my  door,  that  is,  it  follows  upon  the  knock  and 
is  exj^lained  by  the  fact  that,  night  after  night,  just  such  a 
mullled  tap  from  the  ser\-ant  who  summoned  me  preceded 
my  consciousness  of  the  dinner-table. 

The  most  important  and  obvious  classes  of  association  may 
best  be  descriljcd  by  the  terms  '  total'  and  '  partial.'  *  ' Total 
association'  is  that  between  com])lex  experiences  which  are 
complete  in  themselves.  It  is  an  external  and  prosaic  sort  of 
connection  exi)lained  as  due  to  the  simultaneous  or  the  suc- 
cessive occurrence  of  'the  same'  experiences  in  the  past. 
The  association,  one  after  another,  of  the  imaged  notes  of  a 
melody,  words  of  a  poem,  or  implements  of  a  trade,  are  ex- 
amples of  this  common  form  of  association  which  may  be 
readily  symbolized  by  the  following  diagram :  — 

Past  percept  or       •  .       Past  percept  or 
image  of  dog  image  of  master 

A'"         F» 

I  I 

Present  per-       Present  image 
cept  of  dog  of  master 

In  this  diagram,  the  small  letter  (y)  stands  for  'image'  and 
the  capitals  stand  for  'either  percept  or  image';  the  arrow 
designates  the  fact  and  the  direction  of  the  association,  and  the 
line  connecting  A'"  and  1'"  incHcates  tliat  tlie  two  experiences 

*  These  terms  were  suggested  by  James.  The  expression  'total'  must 
not,  of  course,  he  interpreted  as  if  it  required  that  the  entire  experience  of  a 
given  moment  should  be  associated  with  the  imagination  which  follows  on  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  term  'total'  covers  cases  in  which  the  first  term  of  the 
association  is  very  limited  in  extent,  in  which,  for  cxam[)lc,  the  first  term  is 
the  consciousness  of  a  single  word. 


io8  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

occurred  cither  simultaneously  or  successively;  the  index 
suggests  that  X"  and  F"  are  past  experiences. 

Partial  association  is  the  association  of  elements  of  con- 
sciousness or  of  groups  of  elements.  Its  most  extreme 
case,  which  James  aptly  calls  'focalized  association,'  is  the 
observed  connection  between  one  single  element  and  another 
elemental  or  complex  experience.  This  type  of  association 
is  more  varied  in  form  and  less  obviously  attributed  to  con- 
tinuity in  past  experience,  and  must  therefore  be  considered 
in  more  detail. 

First  of  all,  let  us  assure  ourselves  that  the  partial  asso- 
ciation does  indeed  involve  the  assumed  identity  of  its  terms 
with  past  experiences,  which  were  either  simultaneous  or 
successive.  We  may  select,  as  an  extreme  instance,  the  asso- 
ciation implied  in  these  verses  of  Shelley :  — 

"And  the  hyacinth,  purple  and  white  and  blue. 
Which  flung  from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew 
Of  music,  so  delicate,  soft  and  intense, 
It  was  felt  like  an  odor  within  the  sense." 

Now,  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  Shelley 
had  so  often  or  so  vividly  experienced  together  the  fra- 
grance of  hyacinths  and  the  sound  of  bells  that  the  one 
should  suggest  the  other.  At  first  sight,  therefore,  this  seems 
to  be  a  case  of  association  which  does  not  involve  an  assumed 
identity  of  the  connected  terms  with  past  experiences  occurring 
together.  But  on  closer  scrutiny  we  discover  that  the  actual 
connection,  for  Shelley,  between  imagination  of  sound  and 
perception  of  fragrance  was  the  consciousness  of  the  bell-shape 
of  the  flower.  None  of  the  other  elements  of  the  perception  of 
the  hyacinths,  the  consciousness,  for  example,  of  their  color, 
their  height,  their  texture,  has  any  connection  with  the  imagi- 


The  Nature  of  Association  109 

nation  of  the  peal  of  music.  But  this  connecting  link,  the 
consciousness  of  the  form  of  the  llowers,  is  not  associated  with 
the  ima.^ination  of  souncUng  bells  as  a  whole,  for  it  is  itself 
one  element  of  this  imagination;  in  fact  the  only  association 
involved  is  that  between  (i)  the  elemental  consciousness  of 
*  bell-shape,'  common  to  both  the  perception  of  the  fragrant 
hyacinth  and  the  imagination  of  the  pealing  bell,  and  (2)  the 
remaining  elements  of  the  imagination  of  the  bell,  the  audi- 
tory imagination  of  j^itch,  intensity  and  volume  of  tone,  and 
the  visual  imagination  of  the  color  and  form  of  the  bell. 
This  will  be  made  clearer  through  the  following  diagram:  — 

Past  experience  of  bell 

ir 


.Y"         F" 


Present  percept 

of  hyacinth : 
Consciousness  of 


Present 

of  be 

Consciou 


image 
II: 
sness  of 


II 


W{a  +  b  +c)     X — ^y  (w  +  «  +  0) 

Other  qualities        Bell-  Other  C|ualities 

of  hyacinth         shape  of  bell 

Here  the  Roman  numerals,  I.  and  II.,  represent  the  total, 
concrete  facts  of  consciousness,  the  hyacinth-percept  and  the 
bell-image;  X  is  the  element  common  to  both  (the  conscious- 
ness of  shape) ;  y  represents  the  group  of  elemental  imaginings, 
of  pitch,  intensity,  and  the  like  {m,  n,  and  0),  associated  by  X 
and  forming  with  it  the  image  of  the  pealing  bell ;  whereas  W 
groups  together  those  elements,  the  consciousness  of  color, 
height,  and  so  on  (a,  b,  and  c)  of  the  hyacinth-percept,  which 
have  no  part  in  the  association.  Comparing  this,  therefore, 
with  the  concrete  associations,  we  find  that  it  has  the  fol- 
lowing distinguishing  characteristics:   first  and  foremost  the 


no  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

starting-point  of  the  association  is  very  narrow,  either  a 
single  element  or  —  as  we  shall  see  —  a  group  of  elements, 
but  never  a  concrete  total.  This  first  term  (A')  of  the  as- 
sociation is,  in  the  second  place,  a  part  both  of  the  first 
and  of  the  second  of  the  successive,  concrete  experiences 
(the  hyacinth-percept,  I.,  and  the  image  of  the  bell,  II.)  and 
the  association  is,  thus,  entirely  within  the  second  of  these 
experiences,  the  image  of  the  bell.  It  follows,  also,  that  only 
this  second  one  (II.)  of  the  concrete  totals  of  consciousness 
need  be  regarded  as  identical  with  any  former  experience; 
in  the  present  case,  for  example,  Shelley  need  never  before 
have  seen  a  hyacinth,  but  he  must  already  have  seen  and 
heard  a  pealing  bell,  in  order  to  have  the  association.  Finally, 
it  is  evident  that,  in  cases  of  successive  association,  the  first 
of  the  associated  elements  or  groups  of  elements  (X)  neces- 
sarily persists  in  consciousness,  whereas  the  elements  com- 
bined with  it  in  the  earlier  complex  (I.)  fade  gradually  away; 
and  that  the  persisting  element  is  then  surrounded  by  the 
added  elements  (m,  n,  o)  of  the  second  concrete  (II.).  This 
persistence  of  the  earlier  experience,  though  occurring  in 
concrete  association,  is  especially  characteristic  of  the  'par- 
tial' type. 

The  connecting  term  of  a  partial  association  (the  X) 
may  include  more  than  a  single  element.  We  have  then  an 
instance  of  what  may  be  named  'multiple  association.' 
When  Wordsworth,  for  example,  says  of  Milton :  — 

"Thy  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart," 

the  star  reminds  him  of  Milton's  soul,  not  merely  by  its 
aloofness  but  by  its  light.  Or,  to  take  a  more  prosaic 
illustration,  if  the  sight  of  an  Italian  salt  ship  calls  up  an 


lOB    I     T 

OF  -9    J/ 

c  ^^^^h^ Nature  of  Association  iii 

image  of  a  Roman  trireme,  the  association  is  not  belwt'en 
consciousness  of  salt  ship  and  of  Roman  trireme  as  total 
experiences,  for  I  surely  have  not  been  conscious  of  them  at 
one  time  or  in  immediate  succession  on  each  other.  But 
neither  does  this  association  start  from  any  single  feature  of 
the  perceived  ship.  Rather,  a  highly  complex  combination 
of  elements  (falling  short,  however,  of  a  concrete  total)  —  the 
consciousness  of  dark  hull,  of  masts,  and  of  rigging — is 
common  both  to  the  perception  and  to  the  imagination;  and 
these  factors  common  to  both  experiences  are  associated 
with  the  images,  cerebrally  excited,  of  banks  of  oars  and 
Roman  ligures,  which  complete  the  consciousness  of  the 
trireme. 

It  has  thus  been  shown  that  the  partial,  like  the  total, 
association  is  accounted  for  by  the  assumed  identity  of 
associated  experiences  with  earlier  experiences;  but  that 
these  recurring  experiences,  instead  of  being  concrete  wholes, 
are  either  elements  or  groups  of  elements,  which  have 
been  combined  in  former  perceptions  or  imaginings  —  of  peal- 
ing bells  and  of  Roman  trireme,  for  example.  An  association 
should  always,  therefore,  be  analytically  studied.  The  im- 
portant point  is  the  determination  of  its  first  term,  and  the 
common  error  is  the  supposition  that  a  complex  experience 
is  invariably  to  be  taken  as  a  whole  in  tracing  the  associative 
cbnnection.  On  the  other  hand,  as  we  have  seen,  all  sub- 
tler associations  are  instances  of  association  "between  more 
or  less  elemental  parts  of  total  experiences.  Undoubtedly 
the  greater  number  of  associations  are  of  the  total  sort  — 
associations  between  consciousness  of  object  and  of  use, 
between  the  percept  of  a  face  and  the  image  of  a  name,  and 
between  the  terms  of    verbal  and   motor  series.     But   the 


112  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

associations  which  distinguish  the  imaginative  from  the 
prosaic  type  of  mind,  which  arc  the  essence  of  all  metaphor 
and  the  very  heart  of  humor,  belong,  all  of  them,  to  the 
'  partial'  type.  No  opposition  is  too  fixed,  no  separation 
of  time  or  place  too  wide,  to  be  bridged  by  this  sort  of 
association. 

We  have,  therefore,  the  following  types  of  association :  ^  *  — 

ASSOCIATION 

I.    Total  or  Concrete  Association,  of  complete  experiences  (with  or  with- 
out persistence  of  the  iirst  term). 
II.    Partial  Association,  of  persisting  elements  of  consciousness:  — 

a.  Multiple  Association  (starting  from  a  large  group  of  elements). 
h.  Focalized  Association  (starting  from  a  single  element  or  from 
a  small  group  of  elements). 

Before  taking  up  the  more  practical  question  of  the  definite  di- 
rection of  association,  two  theoretical  comments  must  be  made. 
It  must  be  pointed  out  in  the  first  place  that  one's  experiences 
never  recur,  in  the  sense  that  the  percepts  or  images  of  one 
moment  are  actually  identical  with  those  of  a  preceding  mo- 
ment. On  the  contrary,  my  present  image  of  Faneuil  Hall,  of 
my  uncle,  or  of  tlie  date  of  the  fall  of  Khartoum  is  quite  a 
different  event  from  my  earlier  perception  or  image  of  the 
same  building,  person,  or  date.  Unquestionably,  however, 
I  assume  a  certain  '  recurrence '  of  the  past  experience,  and  this 
assumed  identity  or  recurrence  is  rightly  recognized  by  the 
psychologist  as  a  character  of  association.  A  further  dis- 
cussion of  the  possibility  and  nature  of  recurrence  would  be 
metaphysical. 

A  second  theoretical  remark  is  the  following:  evidently 

*  The  student  should  not  fail  to  practise  himself  in  the  analysis  of  cases 
of  association.     For  suggestions,  cf.  Appendix,  Section  \'II.  (§  2). 


The  Direction  of  Association  113 

the  study  of  association  involves  the  distinction,  already  dis- 
cussed, between  (i)  my  subject-self,  the  unique  and  persist- 
ing subject  of  complex  experiences;  and  (2)  these  same  ex- 
periences regarded  as  impersonal,  though  not  externalized, 
objects  belonging  to  a  special  point  of  time.  Such  a  treat- 
ment ])rovcs  to  be  necessary  to  adequate  psychological 
description.  It  is  dangerous  only  if  one  forget  that  the  dis- 
tinction of  subject-self  from  its  experiences  is  an  abstrac- 
tion —  that  the  experiences  never  occur  except  as  experienced 
by  a  self  and  that  a  self  is  not  absolutely  divorced  from,  or 
opposed  to,  but  rather  inclusive  of,  these  experiences. 

III.     The  Direction  of  Association 

The  discussion  of  association  has  thus  made  evident  the 
close  interweaving  of  partial  contents  of  our  complex  total 
experience.  It  is  evident  that  when  one  of  these  partial 
experiences  '  recurs,'  as  perception  or  imagination,  some  other, 
previously  continuous  with  it,  recurs  also,  as  imagination.  A 
very  vital  question  concerns  the  actual  direction  of  association. 
Given  a  recurring  perception  or  imagination,  it  has  perhaps 
already  occurred  a  score  of  times  in  as  many  different  connec- 
tions. Which,  then,  of  the  images  that  might  conceivably 
follow  on  it  will  actually  be  associated  ?  If,  for  example,  the 
sight  of  a  topaz  necklace  is  the  starting-point  of  the  associa- 
tion, will  it  be  followed  by  a  vague  imagining  of  Delhi,  from 
which  it  came,  by  an  imagination  of  the  crown  jewels  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  or  fmally  l)y  some  mainly  verbal  image  — 
the  image,  for  example,  of  the  words  '  topaz  necklace '  or  of 
the  verses  — 

"And  I  would  lie  so  lif^ht,  so  light 
I  scarce  should  be  unolasp'd  at  night." 
I 


114  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

Obviously,  it  is  of  practical  importance  to  learn,  if  we  can,  the 
principles  according  to  which  one  image  rather  than  another 
is  associated ;  for  thus  we  may  increase  the  chance  of  recalling 
what  is  useful  or  pleasant  rather  than  the  indifferent  or  harm- 
ful parts  of  our  earlier  experience.  Now  experiment  confirms 
the  every-day  observation  that  experiences  are  likely  to  be 
associated  in  proportion  as  they  are  (i)  naturally  interesting 
or  (2)  frequent  or  (3)  recent.*  By  naturally  interesting  ex- 
periences are  meant  those  which  involve  instinctive  attention, 
and  it  has  appeared  already  that  the  objects  of  instinctive 
attention  —  so  far  as  they  can  be  characterized  —  are  sensa- 
tionally intense,  or  novel,  or  affectively  toned.  Two  sorts  of 
frequency,  also,  should  be  distinguished.  An  experience  may 
occur  frequently  in  the  same  connection  —  for  example,  a 
bell  may  ring  thirty  times  a  day,  always  by  pressure  of  the 
same  button ;  or  the  experience  may  recur  frequently  but  in 
different  connections  —  for  example,  pressing  a  button,  turn- 
ing a  handle,  and  working  a  treadle,  each  a  dozen  times  a  day, 
may  ring  the  same  beU.  Recent  experiences  need  not  be 
further  classified. 

We  may  readily  find  examples  of  associated  imaginings  of 
these  different  sorts.^  If  the  sight  of  the  necklace  suggests  the 
words  '  topaz  necklace, '  it  is  because  of  the  frequent  connec- 
tion of  visual  impression  and  words;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
reminds  me  of  the  verses,  this  is  because  I  was  last  night  re- 
reading "The  Miller's  Daughter"  ;  if  it  suggests  an  imagina- 
tion of  Delhi  or  of  the  crown  jewels,  it  is  because  these  are 
images  inherently  interesting  through  sensational  intensity  or 

*  Similarly,  it  is  true  that,  of  the  percepts  or  images  of  a  given  moment, 
the  suggestive  one  —  that  which  forms  the  starting-point  of  association  — 
will  be  interesting,  recent,  or  repeated. 


The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing  115 

through  emotional  thrill.  Or,  to  take  another  illustration  :  if 
the  si<j;ht  of  a  surrey,  with  yellow  awning,  reminds  me  of 
the  carriage  in  which  I  drove  from  landing-dock  to  hotel,  in 
Gibraltar,  this  is  because  the  Gibraltar  experience  was  very 
vivid  —  sensationally  novel  and  intense  as  well  as  markedly 
])leasant;  if  the  surrey,  however,  reminds  me  of  the  rugged 
Maine  farmer  who  drives  it,  this  is  because  he  yesterday  drove 
me  to  Bar  Harbor  in  it;  if,  finally,  it  reminds  me  of  a  prosaic 
train-hack,  this  is  because  my  most  frequent  drives  are  to 
and  from  railway  stations.* 

The  practical  ai)jjlications  of  these  principles  of  associa- 
tion will  be  referred  to  again  in  the  concluding  part  of  this 
chapter.  The  discussion  of  this  section  may  be  concluded 
by  a  brief  statement  about  the  probable  physiological  expla- 
nation of  association.  In  a  general  way  it  may  be  said  that 
the  physiological  condition  of  association  is  the  excitation  of 
intra-cortical  fibres  connecting  different  cerebral  areas.  The 
larger  these  connected  brain-areas,  the  more  nearly  'total' 
is  the  association ;  and  the  more  continuous  the  cerebral  ex- 
citation, the  more  persistent  is  the  consciousness.  It  is  also 
natural  that  connecting  fibres  which  have  been  frequently  or 
recently  or  strongly  excited  should  offer  little  resistance  to  the 
excitation ;  and  in  this  probability  we  have  the  suggestion  of 
a  ])hysiological  basis  for  the  secondary  laws  of  associative 
frequency,  recency,  and  interest. 

IV.    The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing 

The  functions  of  imagination  are  by  this  time  evident.  By 
reproductive  imagination,  or  memory,  I  hold  to  my  past;  and 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  M.  W.  Calkins,  "Association"  (Psychological 
Revieii'  Monograph  Supplement,  No.  2) ;   Titchcner,  §  52. 


ii6  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

in  creative  imagination  I  reach  out  also  beyond  the  limits  of 
past  and  present.  As  a  merely  perceiving  self  I  am  bound  to 
this  desk,  this  loom,  this  ])lot  of  ground ;  but  as  a  remember- 
ing self  I  live  through,  once  more,  the  exhilarating  adventures 
and  the  beautiful  scenes  of  my  past  experience,  and  as  a 
creatively  imagining  self  I  am  hampered  neither  by  'now' 
nor  by  'then.'  I  go  beyond  my  own  actual  experience,  I 
see  visions,  I  dream  dreams,  I  create  new  forms.  In  Steven- 
son's words :  — 

"When  at  home  alone  I  sit 
And  am  very  tired  of  it, 
I  have  just  to  shut  my  eyes 
To  go  saiHng  through  the  skies." 

Evidently,  therefore,  we  shall  wisely  seek  to  foster  both  mem- 
ory and  creative  imagining.  But  it  is  plain  at  once  that  one 
cannot  directly  will  novelty  or  spontaneity  or  independence  in 
imagining;  and  that  one  may  as  well  try  to  harness  Pegasus 
as  to  frame  rules  for  the  fancy.  In  other  words,  the  cultiva- 
tion of  imagination  is  limited  to  the  cultivation  of  memory  — 
the  effort  to  reproduce  accurately  and  vividly.  Indirectly,  in- 
deed, this  cultivation  of  the  memory  lays  the  foundation,  as  it 
were,  for  creative  imagination  and  fancy.  In  other  words, 
memory  is  not  a  mere  end  in  itself,  and  we  memorize  not  only 
in  order  to  re-live  our  past  experiences,  but  in  order  to  become 
capable  of  new  ones.  For  all  creative  imagining,  as  has  ap- 
peared, consists  in  the  novel  combination  of  the  reproduced 
images  of  color,  sounds,  and  movements,  or  of  words.  The 
creative  suggestion,  the  flight  of  fancy,  follows  only  on  the  vivid 
and  faithful  reproduction  of  the  actual  experience;  and  imagi- 
nation, lacking  this  accuracy  and  fidelity,  is  insignificant  and 
ineffective.     Thus,  the  truly  imaginative  poet  is  endowed 


The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing  117 

with  what  Lcwcs  called  '  vision, '  and  his  work  is  distinguished 
by  "great  accuracy  in  depicting  things  ...  so  that  we  may 
be  certain  the  things  presented  themselves  in  the  field  of 
the  poet's  vision  and  were  painted  because  seen."  * 

Not  only  creative  imagination  but  all  forms  of  thought  are 
based  on  memory.  Thus,  1  could  not  generalize  without 
memory  —  for  cxamj^le,  I  could  not  be  conscious  of  chairs  as  a 
class,  if  I  could  not  remember  different  sorts  of  chairs  which 
I  have  seen ;  and  I  could  not  reason  —  for  example,  I  could 
not  reason  out  the  solution  of  an  algebraic  problem  —  if  I 
could  not  remember  the  values,  once  learned,  of  the  different 
terms.  Now  analytic  reasoning  and  creative  imagination  are 
the  two  psychological  forms  of  learning,  that  is,  acquisition  of 
new  experience ;  f  and  it  is  therefore  true  that  memory  (though 
in  itself  a  preservation  of  old  experiences)  is  essential  to 
learning.  Even  physiological  learning,  the  acquirement  of 
new  bodily  dexterities,  is  dependent  on  memory ;  for  the  old  in- 
stinctive reactions  would  be  repeated  again  and  again  —  the 
lish  would  always  snap  the  hook  and  the  child  would  invari- 
ably touch  the  flame  —  but  for  memories  of  the  painful  results 
of  such  activities. 

Obviously,  therefore,  it  is  well  worth  our  while  to  concern 
ourselves  with  methods  of  memorizing;  for,  despite  great 
individual  differences  in  the  ability  to  memorize,  experimental 
investigation  has  failed  to  disclose  any  one  utterly  incapable 
of  improving  his  memory.  On  the  contrary,  unexpected 
capacity  for  improvement  has  been  brought  to  light.  In  a 
long  series  of  experiments  carried  on  in  the  Wellesley  College 

*  "Principles  of  Success  in  Literature,"  Chapter  III.     The  student   is 
advised  to  read  this  entire  chapter, 
t  Cf.  Chapter  V.,  p.  S9. 


ii8  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

laboratory  *  one  subject  was  trained  to  reproduce  correctly 
series  of  eighty-one  colors  or  odors  or  nonsense  syllables; 
another  learned  to  reproduce  series  of  sixty-one  terms; 
and  no  subject  failed  to  show  some  improvement  through 
practice. 

Methods  of  memorizing  have  been  formulated  on  the  basis 
of  the  principles  of  attention  and  of  association/  These 
methods  vary  somewhat  according  as  one  seeks  to  memorize 
one  fact  or  many,  and  according  as  one  wishes  to  memorize 
facts  as  ordered  or  facts  irrespective  of  order.  Certain  con- 
clusions, however  —  one  may  perhaps  call  them  rules  for 
memorizing  —  emerge  clearly  from  the  experimental  study  of 
methods. t  The  first  of  these  has  already  been  stated:  One 
should  attend  to  that  which  one  wishes  to  remember.  To  pro- 
mote memory  one  must,  therefore,  observe  with  attention ;  to 
secure  the  recurrence  of  an  experience,  one  must  concentrate 
oneself  upon  it.  A  classic  illustration  of  the  dependence  of 
memory  on  attentive  apprehension  occurs  in  Wordsworth's 
"Daffodils":  — 

"I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 
What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought, 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bUss  of  solitude." 

*  Cf.  "A  Study  in  Memorizing  Various  Materials  by  the  Reconstruction 
Method,"  by  Eleanor  A.  McC.  Gamble,  Psychological  Review  Monograph 
Supplements,  Psychological  Series,  No.  42,  1909.  The  remaining  portion  of 
this  chapter  is  based,  in  great  part,  upon  the  experimental  investigation  and 
the  conclusions  of  this  book. 

t  For  experiments  (of  various  types),  cf.  Seashore,  Chapter  XI.;  Myers, 
op.  cit.,  Exps.  95,  96. 


The   Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing  119 

The  second  rule  for  mcmorizinf:;  is  designed  to  meet  a 
difficulty  in  attentive  apprehension  due  to  the  multiplicity  of 
objects  which  it  is  desired  to  attend  to,  and  thus  to  remember. 
Attention,  it  is  e\-ident,  should  be  directed  to  those  parts  of  a 
complex  or  of  a  series  which  are  normally  most  often  forgotten. 
So  far  as  series  are  concerned,  ordinary  observation  and  ex- 
periment alike  disclose  the  fact  that  the  middle  part  of  a  series 
is  most  likely  to  be  forgotten  —  a  fact  readily  understood  when 
one  remembers  that  the  first  of  a  series  has  a  certain  interest, 
and  that  the  last  of  a  series  possesses  the  advantage  of  recency 
in  experience.  It  is  evidently,  then,  expedient  to  direct  one's 
attention  toward  the  middle  of  the  series  —  experimental  indi- 
cations point  to  the  part  just  beyond  the  middle.  Thus, 
if  one  is  trying  to  visualize  a  series  of  the  colors  green,  gray, 
brown,  pink,  blue,  white,  red,  black,  mauve,  the  attention 
should  be  directed  not  to  green  and  gray,  nor  to  black  and 
mauve,  but  to  blue  and  white. 

Another  method  for  attending  to  a  group  of  facts  is  recog- 
nized by  the  third  rule  for  memorizing:  single  facts  to  be 
remembered  should  be  grouped  or  unified.  Words,  for  exami)le, 
are  most  readily  remembered  as  linked  in  sentences  or  in 
stanzas;  and  the  streets  in  a  city  or  rooms  in  a  building  are 
best  recalled  as  related  parts  of  a  map  or  plan.  Even  mean- 
ingless material,  if  one  is  trying  to  remember  it,  should  be 
grouped  —  nonsense  syllables,  for  example,  in  rhythmical 
measures,  or  colored  papers  in  blocks  of  three  or  four.  In- 
deed, every-day  observation  shows  that  facts  of  any  sort  are 
best  remembered  when  grouped.  Thus,  I  learn  the  date, 
1690,  of  the  jHililication  of  Locke's  "Essay"  by  connecting 
it  with  the  date,  1688,  of  the  coming  of  William  and  Mary  anfl 
with  the  fact  that  Locke  returned  from  his  exile  in  Holland  on 


120  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

the  ship  which  Ijore  the  Princess  of  Orange;  and  I  connect 
the  invention  of  printing  and  the  discovery  of  America  with 
the  late  fifteenth  century  by  regarding  both  as  manifestations 
of  the  renaissant  spirit  of  adventure. 

The  fourth  rule  for  memorizing  follows  from  a  principle 
of  association:  that  an  experience  occurring  frequently  in 
different  connections  is  the  more  likely  to  recur.  If  the 
professor  of  economics  and  the  professor  of  German  and  the 
professor  of  ethics  alike  quote  Nietzsche  in  their  lectures,  I  am 
likely  to  be  reminded  of  Nietzsche  more  often  than  if  he  were 
favored  by  one  only  of  my  teachers.  It  follows  that  one 
should  emphasize  existing  connections  and  form  new  connec- 
tions of  the  fact-to-be-remembered  with  other  facts  likely  to 
recur  and  to  suggest  it.  This  rule,  though  important,  needs  to 
be  guarded.  For,  first,  the  greater  the  variety  of  facts  in- 
directly or  directly  connected,  the  greater  the  likelihood  that, 
in  a  given  situation,  an  undesired  image  —  or  no  image  —  will 
recur.  If  the  nonsense  syllable  mej  appears  in  the  fifth  place 
of  a  series  which  I  am  trying  to  learn,  the  fact  that  it  has  held 
second  place  in  yesterday's  series  and  eighth  place  in  a  last 
week's  series  makes  it  likely  that,  on  trying  to  repeat  to-day's 
list,  I  assign  we;  to  second  or  eighth,  not  to  fifth,  place,  or  that 
I  am  altogether  doubtful  of  its  position.  The  formation,  in 
the  second  place,  of  artificial  connections  is  commonly  of  very 
questionable  value,  for  such  connections  lack  the  very  condi- 
tions of  associative  recurrence.  It  is  futile,  for  example, 
to  .transfer  one's  ring  to  the  middle  finger  for  the  sake  of  re- 
minding oneself  to  wind  the  clock.  Clock-winding  and  ring- 
on-third-finger  are  not  normally  connected  in  my  experience, 
but  occur  together  seldom,  and  there  is  therefore  little  likeli- 
hood that  the  sight  of  the  ring,  a  few  hours  hence,  will  recall 


The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing  121 

precisely  the  image  of  clock-winding.  Indeed,  the  artifi- 
cial auxiliary  image,  expressly  formed  to  suggest  some  other 
image,  has  a  pertinacious  way  of  absorbing  attention  and  thus 
of  preventing  the  association  desired.  If  I  try  to  remember 
Mr.  Saltmarsh's  name  by  ' connecting'  it  with  the  term  '  Fresh- 
meadow,'  I  am  more  than  likely  to  strain  our  relations  by 
calling  Mr.  Saltmarsh  '  Freshmeadow '  when  next  I  meet  him. 
A  final  rule  for  memory  has  already  been  implied:  one 
should  repeal  the  fact,  or  the  series,  or  the  group  of  facts  to  be 
remembered.  This  rule  is  based  on  the  principle  underlying 
association  that  the  frcr^uently  occurring  experience  is  likely 
to  be  suggested,  or  remembered;  and  that  it  is  also,  by  virtue 
of  mere  repetition,  likely  to  be  suggestive.  However  common- 
place or  naturally  uninteresting  the  scene  or  the  paragraph, 
let  it  often  enough  be  repeated  in  one's  experience  and  one  is 
bound  to  remember  it  —  perhaps  to  the  exclusion  of  the  vivider 
landscape  or  stanza.  This  is  a  truth  of  very  great  pedagogical 
importance.  We  know  that  naturally  interesting  and  recent 
and  frequent  experiences  are  likely  to  recur.  But  the  inter- 
est —  that  is,  roughly  speaking,  the  pleasantness  or  unpleas- 
antness, or  unusualness  —  of  an  exjxrience  is,  for  the  most 
part,  beyond  our  direct  control.  We  cannot  at  will  make  our 
experiences  vivid  in  order  to  remember  them,  nor  dull  their 
poignancy  in  order  to  forget  them.  And  though  we  are  often 
able  to  secure  the  recency  of  our  experience  —  to  refresh  our 
memories  and  to  'cram'  overnight  for  examinations  —  yet  this 
sort  of  memory  is  notoriously  evanescent.  In  repetition,  on 
the  other  hand,  we  have  a  memory-method  which  is,  in  great 
degree,  directly  subject  to  our  control  and  variation  and  which 
is  also  significant  and  relatiwly  permanent  in  effect.  With  a 
sufBcient  number  of  repetitions  one  may  remember,  for  a  while 


122  A  Fir  Si  Book  in  Psychology 

at  least,  almost  anything;  one  may  supplement  associations 
which  have  been  formed  through  impressive  or  through  recent 
experiences;  and  one  may  even  supplant  harmful  associa- 
tions already  formed.  A  child  who  often  enough  repeats, 
from  the  safe  vantage-ground  of  his  father's  arms,  the  experi- 
ence of  stroking  Jack,  the  dog,  will  in  the  end  exorcise  from 
his  mind  the  memory  of  Jack's  ovcrrough  welcome;  and  any- 
body may  correct  the  most  ingrained  misspellings  who  will 
often  enough  copy  the  misspelled  word  in  its  proper  form. 
Ordinary  observation,  supported  by  a  certain  amount  of 
experimental  study,  suggests  that  this  voluntary  repetition  of 
facts  to  be  remembered  is  more  trustworthy  when  slow  than 
when  fast.  It  is  true  that  swift  learning,  when  successful  at 
all,  is  more  effective  than  slow  learning,  in  proportion  to 
the  time  spent  on  it ;  but  many  series  and  groups  of  facts  are 
too  large  to  be  learned  at  all  after  this  fashion,  and  facts 
quickly  learned  —  for  example,  Shakespearian  lines  and 
chronological  tables  '  crammed '  for  examination  —  seem  to  be 
forgotten  far  more  quickly  than  facts  more  slowly  acquired. 
Doubtless  the  great  advantage  of  slow  learning  is  that  it 
facilitates  what  Miss  Gamble  calls  'good  technique'  in  memo- 
rizing; and  by  this  is  meant,  wisely  distributed  attention, 
artificial  grouping,  and  emphasis  upon  the  connection  be- 
tween terms  in  a  series. 

Experimental  investigation  has  concerned  itself  especially 
with  repetition  as  a  factor  in  memorizing  series  and  has  sup- 
plied two  corollaries  to  the  theorem  that  repetition  strengthens 
memory.  These  are :  first,  that  repetition  has  a  diminishing 
effect :  that  I  learn  more  in  the  first  few  repetitions  than  in 
many  later  ones;  second,  that  repetitions  are  more  effective 
if  distributed  than  if  massed  —  that  it  is  better,  for  example, 


The  Uses  and  Methods  of  Memorizing  123 

to  repeat  a  stanza  three  times  every  hour  for  four  consecutive 
hours  than  to  repeat  it  twelve  times  on  a  stretch. 

We  conclude  then  that,  for  each  one  of  us,  there  is  good  hope 
of  cultivating  the  memory.  By  discriminating  attention,  by 
careful  grouping  of  the  diverse,  one  may  wisely  apprehend 
one's  material;  and  by  [)atient  repetition  one  may  increase 
the  likelihood  of  its  reappearance.  Even  the  man  with  the 
wretched  verbal  memory  should  not  give  over  hope  of  im- 
proving it;  for  an  exact  verbal  memory  is  a  priceless  posses- 
sion. A  word  may  summarize,  as  no  other  can,  a  mass  of 
details  or  may  express  a  meaning  which  no  other  can  carry. 
And  a  beautiful  word-sc([uencc  on  the  li[)s  or  on  the  pen  of  a 
master  of  style  has  an  irreplaceable  music  and  charm. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

RECOGNITION 

I.   Recognition  as  Personal  Attitude 

The  word  '  memory '  is  commonly  used  with  two  distinct 
meanings.  "I  remember"  Goethe's  "Erlkonig"  when  I  can 
correctly  repeat  it;  but  "I  remember"  the  teacher  who  set 
me  to  learning  the  poem  when  I  recognize  her,  twenty  years 
later,  an  unexpected  figure  in  the  Potsdamer  Bahnhof. 
These  two  experiences,  though  very  often  combined,  are 
utterly  different  and  are  therefore  wisely  distinguished  by 
different  names.  In  this  book,  accordingly,  the  word  '  rec- 
ognition '  is  used  to  indicate  the  consciousness  of  an  object 
as  identical  with  an  object  of  my  earlier  experience,  whereas 
'memory'  is  used  of  accurate  reproductive  imagination,  the 
repetition  of  former  consciousness.  Memory,  in  this  sense,  is 
very  often  supplemented  by  recognition,  yet  is  possible  with- 
out it.  For  example,  I  am  remembering  if  I  "see  with  my 
mind's  eye"  a  vision  of  the  Dent  du  Midi,  even  though  I  do 
not  at  the  moment  realize  tliat  this  imagined  mountain  is 
called  "Dent  du  Midi,"  or  that  I  have  ever  before  seen  it. 
But  I  am  recognizing  when  I  say  to  myself,  "I  saw  this  moun- 
tain on  a  July  day  from  the  INIontreux  terrace,"  or  even  if  I 
reflect,  "I  have  seen  this  mountain  before,  though  I  don't 
know  where  or  when."  Recognition  may  accompany  per- 
ception, and  indeed  every  sort  of  experience  as  well  as  memory. 
The  example  just  given  is  of   recognition  with  memory;  but 

124 


Recognilion  as  Personal  Attitude  125 

when  in  the  summer  of  igoi  I  actually  saw  the  Dent  rhi 
Mi(H,  for  the  second  time,  I  recognized  it  as  the  same  moun- 
tain which  I  had  first  seen  ten  years  before  —  and  this  was 
recognition  with  perception.  Recognition  is  distinguished, 
also,  as  more  or  less  complete.  When  I  recognize  a  figure  in  a 
Paris  crowd  as  one  I  have  seen  before,  but  try  in  vain  to  recall 
name  or  home  or  other  association,  this  is  very  incomplete 
recognition.  The  recognition  is  relatively  complete  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  recognize  the  figure  as  that,  for  exam])le,  of  Pro- 
fessor Harold  Hoffding;  if  I  recall  that  I  first  met  him  in  the 
World's  Fair  Building  at  St.  I.ouis  in  1904;  that  he  has 
written  a  book  on  psychology,  a  history  of  philosophy,  and  a 
philosophy  of  religion;  that  he  has  a  son  w-ho  is  much  con- 
cerned in  problems  of  Danish  education,  and  so  on. 

It  is  evident  that  there  are  indefinitely  many  grades  of  com- 
pleteness of  recognition,  and  it  must  now  be  shown  that  this 
completeness  consists  in  the  supplementation  of  recognition 
by  associated  imagination.  Totally  incomplete  recognition, 
which  occurs  seldom  (according  to  some  psychologists,  never), 
is  that  in  which  one  perceives  or  imagines  an  object  without 
any  associated  imagination  of  former  place  or  circumstance. 
The  recognition  is  nearly  incomplete  if  there  occur  only  a 
single  supplementary  imagination  —  for  example,  if  the  recogni- 
tion of  a  face  suggests  one  image  only,  that  of  a  steamer-deck; 
it  grows  fuller  if  there  follow  more  images  —  for  instance,  if  the 
steamer-deck  image  is  succeeded  by  the  verbal  image,  "  Devon- 
ian, 1Q02";  it  is  more  nearly  complete  when  there  follow  — 
probably  after  a  pause  and  in  a  rush  —  still  other  images,  verbal 
or  concrete,  for  instance,  the  images  of  "Colonel  Blake,  Civil 
War  veteran,  travelling  with  a  ])retty  young  wife." 

Supplementing  imagination  plays  so  important  a  part  in 


126  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

useful  recognizing  that  some  psychologists  have  described 
recognition  as  any  experience  supplemented  by  imagination. 
This  account  of  recognition  is,  however,  discredited  by  cer- 
tain experimental  studies.  These  show  at  least  three  types 
of  recognition  which  would  be  impossible  if  the  recognition 
consisted  in  supplementing  imagination  pure  and  simple. 
There  are,  first,  cases  in  which  imagination  follows  on  the 
consciousness  of  an  unrecognized  object,  as  when  I  call  an 
unfamiliar  object  by  a  totally  incorrect  name.  Obviously, 
recognition  cannot  consist  in  the  image  of  a  word  which  does 
not  have  any  connection  with  the  object  recognized.  Cases 
occur,  in  the  second  place,  in  which  the  recognition  precedes 
the  supplementary  imagination  by  a  marked  interval  —  in 
which,  for  example,  an  odor  is  recalled  as  familiar  long  be- 
fore the  imagination  of  name  or  of  circumstance.  Here,  the 
recognition  precedes  the  supplementary  imagination  and  can- 
not, therefore,  be  identical  with  it.  There  are  finally  a  few 
cases  on  record  —  too  few,  however,  to  be,  in  themselves, 
decisive  —  in  which  an  object  has  been  recognized  without 
the  occurrence  of  any  supplemental  imagining.'  * 

Up  to  this  point,  recognition  has  been  described  and  illus- 
trated in  a  more  or  less  untechnical  way.  We  must  now 
discover  and  formulate  its  essential  characters;  and  first  of 
these  is  the  emphasized  persistence  of  fhe  self  in  recognition. 
When  I  recognize,  I  regard  my  present  self  as  experiencing 
in  the  present  what  I,  this  same  self,  experienced  in 
the  past.  John  Stuart  Mill  dwells  on  this  character  of  rec- 
ognition in  a  well-known  passage  about  memory  (by  which, 
as  will  appear,  he  means  what  we  are  calling  recognition). 

*  These  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
paragraphs  of  Appendix,  Section  A'lII. 


Recognition  as  Relational  Consciousness  127 

"What  is  memory?"  he  asks.*  "It  is  not  merely  having  the 
idea  of  [a]  fact  recalled.  It  is  having  the  idea  recalled  along 
with  the  belief  that  the  fact,  which  it  is  idea  of,  really  hai)j)ened 
.  .  .  and  ...  to  myself.  Memory  implies  an  Ego  who  for- 
merly experienced  the  facts  remembered,  and  who  was  the 
same  Ego  then  as  now."  The  consciousness  of  myself  as 
'  same '  through  changing  experience  is  thus  an  integral  j^art 
of  recognition. 

We  may  next  ask:  Of  what  besides  my  persisting  self  am  I 
conscious  in  recognition  ?  in  other  words,  what  is  the  object  of 
my  recognition?  Apparently  it  may  be  of  any  tyj)e.  I  may 
recognize  a  person;  an  external  thing  or  scene;  an  impersonal 
rule  or  law ;  or,  finally,  my  own  experience  as  such.  More 
carefully  scrutinized,  the  object  of  recognition  is  person, 
thing,  or  impersonal  fact  regarded  as  identical  with  the  same 
object  experienced  in  my  past.  The  object  of  recognition, 
in  a  word,  is  an  object  related  to  myself. 

The  structural  analysis  of  recognition  will  form  the  final 
stage  of  this  description.  From  percej)tion  and  imagination, 
which  (it  will  be  remembered)  are  analyzed  into  elements 
mainly  sensational,  recognition  is  distinguished  by  the  promi- 
nence of  elements  of  a  totally  different  sort,  relational  ele- 
ments, as  they  have  been  called.  The  nature  of  these  rela- 
tional elements  has  next  to  be  considered. 

II.    Recognition  as  Relational  Consciousness 

RELATIONAL    ELEMENTS  ' 

Some  psychologists  claim  that  structural  analysis  resolves 
our  consciousness  into  elements  wholly  sensational;    others 

*  Note  33  to  \'ol.  II..  Chapter  Xl\'.,  Section  7,  of  James  Mill's  "Analysis 
of  the  Phenomena  of  the  Human  Mind." 


128  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

hold  that  there  are  but  two  classes  of  elements:  sensational 
elements,  the  color-qualities,  taste-qualities,  and  the  like, 
and  affective  elements,  the  feelings  of  pleasantness  and  of 
unpleasantness.*  The  element  of  attention,  or  clearness,  is 
sometimes  named  in  addition  to  these.f  But  many  contem- 
porary psychologists,  including  the  writer  of  this  book,  are 
convinced  that  all  these  analyses  are  inadequate;  that  we 
have  certain  experiences  which  are  not  completely  analyzed, 
even  structurally,  when  the  sensational  and  the  affective  ele- 
ments and  the  attention,  which  form  part  of  them,  have  been 
enumerated;  that  there  are,  in  other  words,  elements  of 
consciousness  other  than  the  sensational  and  affective  ele- 
ments and  attention.  These  neglected  elements  of  conscious- 
ness have  been  named  relational,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  dis- 
cover experiences  into  which  they  enter  as  significant  part. 
When,  for  example,  I  try  to  match  one  green  with  another,  my 
consciousness  of  greenness,  of  colorless  light,  of  brightness, 
and  of  extensity  are  not  the  only  elements  of  my  conscious- 
ness. On  the  contrary,  the  consciousness  of  the  likeness  or 
difference  of  the  given  green  as  compared  with  the  standard 
is  the  very  essence  of  the  experience.  Again,  when  I  think 
of  a  vibrating  string  as  cause  of  a  sound,  the  consciousness  of 
causal  relation  is  as  distinct  a  feature  of  my  experience  as  the 
sensational  consciousness  of  pitch  or  of  loudness. 

But,  easy  as  it  is  to  point  out  experiences  characterized  by 
relational  elements,  the  attempt  to  enumerate  them  discloses 
extraordinary  obstacles.  They  have  no  special  physical 
stimuli,  and  they  are  physiologically  conditioned  not  by  any 
end-organ  excitation  but  by  brain-change  only  —  either  by 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XI.,  p.  172,  and  Appendix,  Section  XI.,  §  i. 
t  Cf.  Chapter  VI.,  p.  94,  and  Appendix,  Section  VI.,  §  i. 


Recognilion  as   Rclalional  Consciousness  129 

Uk-  excitation  of  the  so-called  association  centres,  or  by  the 
excitation  of  transserse  fibres, or  in  both  ways.*  Un  account 
of  this  lack  of  distinctive  physical  stimuli,  the  relational  ele- 
ments cannot  easily  be  isolated  and  varied  by  experimental 
devices,  since  experiment  must  be  applied  to  physical  stimuli 
and  not  directly  to  consciousness  itself.f  In  our  study  of  these 
relational  elements  we  are  in  great  part,  therefore,  thrown 
back  upon  individual  introspection  —  notoriously  untrust- 
worthy and  at  this  point  especially  difficult.  We  are  thus 
liable  to  mistake  a  relatively  simple  yet  analyzable  experi 
ence  for  one  which  is  really  elemental.  For  all  these  rea- 
sons it  is  unwise  to  attempt  a  full  classification  of  relationa: 
elements.  The  following  enumeration  is  incomplete,  and  in- 
deed merely  tentative.  Of  the  experiences  which  it  names, 
some,  doubtless,  are  not  wholly  unanalyzable ;  but  all  are 
irreducible  to  merely  sensational  and  affective  elements :  The 
experiences  of  'one'  and  of  'many'  are  peculiarly  constant 
elements  of  this  class,  that  is,  they  seem  to  lie  at  the  base  of 
most  relational  experiences;  and  what  James  calls  the  'feel- 
ings' ^  of  'and,'  and  of  'but'  —  that  is,  the  consciousness  of 
connection  and  of  opposition  —  and  the  experiences  of  'like' 
and  of  'different,'  of  'more'  and  of  'less,'  are  certainly  rela- 
tional experiences  and  are  probably  also  elemental. 

Few  wide-aw'akc  adult  experiences  arc  destitute  of  these 
relational  elements.  Perception  and  imagination,  for  examplCj 
though  predominantly  sensational,  are  characterized,  as  we 
have  seen,  by  a  consciousness  of  unification  (or  together-ness) 
and  of  separateness.J     And  whenever,  as  in  the  experience 

*  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.  (§  7). 
t  Cf.  Chapter  I.,  p.  8. 
t  Cf.  Chapter  IV  ,  p.  66. 


130  A   Fir  si  Book  in  Psychology 

now  under  discussion,  that  is.  in  recognition,  I  am  con- 
scious of  time,  there  the  relational  consciousness  is  signifi- 
cant. Psychologists  who  deny  the  occurrence  of  any  ele- 
mental relational  consciousness  believe  that  recognition  may 
be  adequately  described  without  recourse  to  it.  When,  for 
example,  I  recognize  a  certain  picture  in  the  Hague  gallery, 
my  consciousness  includes,  they  hold,  merely  (i)  the  visual 
elements  involved  in  my  consciousness  of  the  rich  brown  tints, 
the  high  lights,  and  the  contour  of  the  face;  (2)  the  verbal 
imaginationof  the  names  of  picture  and  of  painter  —  "Homer," 
by  Rembrandt;  (3)  the  organic  sensations  due  to  my  re- 
laxed attitude  as  I  come  upon  a  well-remembered  picture 
among  many  unfamiliar  ones ;  and  (4)  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 
But  though  all  these  are  truly  elements  in  my  consciousness  of 
the  picture,  by  themselves  they  would  not  constitute  recogni- 
tion. To  this  belongs  a  simple,  though  not  an  elemental, 
experience,  which  may  be  named  the  consciousness  of  familiar- 
ity. It  is  hard  to  analyze,  yet  clearly  characterized  by  non- 
sensational  elements  other  than  the  affection  of  pleasantness, 
and  attention.  Like  some  sensational  complexes,  the  con- 
sciousness of  humidity,  for  example,  it  is  so  intimate  a  fusion 
of  elements  as  to  have  an  individuality  of  its  own.  But  like 
that,  too,  it  is  after  all  capable  of  analysis  into  simpler  parts, 
the  relational  consciousness  of  'same'  and  of  'past.'  In  other 
words,  the  consciousness  of  an  object  as  familiar,  that  is, 
the  recognition  of  an  object,  seems  to  include,  when  reflected 
on,  the  consciousness  of  sameness  with  a  past  thing,  and  the 
recognition  of  an  event  means  the  awareness  of '  this  event  iden- 
tical-with-something-past.'  Closely  observed,  therefore,  every 
experience  of  familiarity  is  analyzable  into  these  factors.  This 
does  not  mean  that  we  necessarily  think  of  the  words  'same' 


Recognition  as  Relational  Consciousness  131 

or  'past,'  but  thai  we  liavc  special  sorts  of  consciousness 
expressed  1)\-  these  words.  The  experience  of  sameness  is 
relati\el\'  simple.  The  anal\'sis  of  the  consciousness  of  the 
j)ast  is  far  more  dilTicult.  It  involves,  like  all  consciousness 
of  temporal  relation,  a  realization  of  the  '  moment,'  that  is, 
of  the  fact  which  is  linked  with  other  facts  in  two  directions. 
But  the  'past'  is  the  irrevocable,  unrevivable  moment. 
The  experience  of  the  past  may,  therefore,  be  roughly  de- 
scribed as  the  consciousness  of  an  irrevocable  fact,  linked  in 
two  directions  with  other  facts. 

The  study  of  volition  will  involve  a  consideration  of  another 
sort  of  relational  consciousness  of  time,  that  is,  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  future.*  But  the  chapter  immediately  following  on 
this  will  discuss,  instead,  those  impersonal  forms  of  relational 
consciousness  which  are  called  thought.  The  results  of  the 
present  chapter  may  be  recapitulated  in  the  statement  that 
the  recognizing  self  is  (i)  relationally  conscious  of  (2)  itself 
as  persistent  and  of  objects  as  related  to  its  past.  Comparing 
recognition  with  perception  and  imagination  we  find,  there- 
fore, that  it  differs  mainly  in  two  respects  from  both.  It  is, 
first,  an  ex])licit  and  emphasized  consciousness  of  myself,  and, 
in  particular,  of  myself  as  persistent.  Every  experience,  it  is 
true,  includes  this  consciousness  of  persisting  self,  but  in 
perception  and  in  imagination  the  awareness  of  self  is 
unemphasized  and  unattended-to,  whereas,  in  recognition, 
it  is  the  centre  and  core  of  the  consciousness.  Recognition 
is,  in  the  second  place,  an  experience  in  which  not  sensational 
but  relational  elements  arc  predominant. 

A   word   should  be  said  of  paramnesia,   so-called   'false 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XII.,  p.  219. 


132  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

memory,'  which  is  l)cttcr  named  false  recognition.  It  has 
two  forms,  j)erceptual  and  imaginative  recognizing.  An  exam- 
ple of  the  I'lrst  is  the  'been-here-before'  feeling  which  some- 
times overwhelms  us  when  we  enter  strange  places  and  new 
scenes.     Rossetti  has  vividly  described  this  experience:  — 

"  I  have  been  here  before, 

But  when  or  how  I  cannot  tell: 
I  know  the  grass  beyond  the  door, 
The  sweet,  keen  smell." 

In  the  second  type  of  paramnesia  one  "recognizes,"  as  be- 
longing to  one's  past,  imaginations  which  correspond  with 
no  past  occurrence.  Many  of  our  dream  imaginations 
and  many  experiences  of  the  mentally  deranged  are  of  this 
type ;  but  even  commoner  illustrations  of  it  are  the  inaccurate 
testimony  and  the  fictitious  'recollections'  of  perfectly  honest 
people.  Nicolay  and  Hay,  the  biographers  of  Lincoln,  are 
quoted  as  saying,  from  their  experience  in  editing  recollec- 
tions, that  "mere  memory,  unassisted  by  documentary  evi- 
dence, is  utterly  unreliable  after  a  lapse  of  fifteen  years." 


CHAPTER   IX 


THOUGHT :     CONCEPTION 


The  words  'thought'  and  'thinking'  are  often  on  our  lips 
and  are  used  with  many  shades  of  meaning.  To  begin  with : 
'thought'  is  often  identified  with  'consciousness,'  and  is  thus 
contrasted  with  'matter'  or  'extension.'  This  is  the  meaning 
which  Descartes  gives  to  the  word  in  his  famous  proposition : 
"Cogito  ergo  sum."  Again,  'thinking'  is  often  used  to  de- 
scribe all  non-perceiving  consciousness:  "What  are  you 
doing  in  the  dark?"  some  one  asks  me;  "Just  thinking,"  I 
may  answer  —  and  '  thinking '  here  means  imagining,  indulg- 
ing in  revery.  The  psychologist,  however,  is  wont  to  use  the 
terms  in  stricter  and  narrower  fashion  and  to  mean  by  '  think- 
ing' not  consciousness  in  general,  but  a  form  of  consciousness 
to  be  distinguished  as  well  from  imagination  as  from  percep- 
tion —  namely,  the  consciousness  of  objects  as  related  to  each 
other.  The  thinking  self  is  the  self  (i)  relationally  conscious 
(2)  of  related  objects  which  (3)  it  knows,  reflectively  if  not 
immediately,  as  objects,  also,  of  other  selves.  We  shall  con- 
sider these  characters  of  thought  in  a  slightly  different  order; 
and  shall  begin  by  seeking  illustrations  of  the  difference] 
between  perception  and  imagination,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
thought,  on  the  other.  I  see  or  imagine  a  strawberry  and  a 
tomato;  a  scaly  loljster ;  an  electric  drum  which  rexolves after 
I  touch  a  button.  But  1  think  about  tiie  likeness  of  straw- 
berry to  tomato ;  of  the  class  of  Crustacea ;   and  of  the  causal 


134  -4  First  Book  in  Psychology 

connection  between  electric  contact  and  mo\ing  drum.  In 
my  thinking  I  am,  in  other  words,  attentively  conscious  not 
of  color,  sound,  or  fragrance,  nor  of  happiness  or  unhap- 
pincss,  but  of  likeness,  of  causal  relation,  or  of  logical 
grouping. 

The  related  objects  of  thought  may  be  of  any  sort,  personal 
or  impersonal,  external  or  non-external,  puljlic  or  private. 
I  may,  for  example,  compare  (and  thus  think  about)  selves, 
about  things,  about  formulas,  even  about  my  own  experiences. 
I  think  about  these  objects,  however,  as  related,  and  as  re- 
lated not  to  me  but  to  each  other.  Otherwise  stated,  the 
relation  is  impersonal,  even  when  the  related  objects  are  per- 
sonal. Herein  thought-objects  are  sharply  distinguished  from 
recognized  (or  familiar)  objects,  from  the  objects  of  my 
love,  my  hate,  and  my  other  emotions,  and  from  the 
objects  of  my  will.  Of  all  these  objects  I  am  directly  aware 
as  related  to  myself;  whereas,  in  thinking,  I  am  only 
vaguely  conscious  of  myself  but  attentively  conscious  of 
the  objects,  as  related. 

We  have  next  to  notice  that  thinking  is  not,  like  imagination, 
a  'private'  experience.  As  in  the  case  of  perception  I  am 
conscious,  either  immediately  (during  my  thinking)  or  reflect- 
ively (as  I  look  back  on  my  thinking) ,  that  I  am  sharing  the 
'  experience  of  other  thinking  selves.^  *  Otherwise  stated : 
thought-relations  are  public,  universal,  not  peculiarly  my 
own.  There  is  something  private  and  particular  about  my 
reveries  and  my  day-dreams,  but  my  thoughts  are  never 
regarded  as  personal  property.  My  castles  in  Spain  are 
private  dwellings,  but  the  great  halls  of  thought  swing  wide  to 

*  These  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
paragraphs  of  Appendix,  Section  IX. 


Tlioui^Jii 


'.•)3 


every  comer.  This  is  most  readily  illustrated  from  the  more 
abstract  sorts  of  thinking,  and  the  most  striking  of  all  examples 
are  from  logic  and  mathematical  science.  No  man  appro- 
priates the  multiplication  table  or  the  axiom  that  things  equal 
to  the  same  thing  arc  equal  to  each  other,  or  the  theorem  that 
the  sum  of  the  angles  of  a  triangle  equals  two  right  angles,  as 
an  ex])erience  peculiar  to  himself. 

The  character  of  thought  which  has  still  to  be  emphasized 
is  revealed  by  a  structural  analysis.  My  consciousness  of 
objects  as  related  is  distinguished  by  elemental  experiences  of 
a  special  sort  —  relational  experiences,  or  feelings,  as  the  pre- 
ceding chaj^ter  has  designated  them.  These  feelings  of  like- 
ness and  of  difference,  of  totality,  of  opposition,  are  exj)eriences 
as  distinct  as  the  sensations  of  blue,  of  noise,  of  saltness,  and 
the  affective  feeling  of  pleasantness.  There  are  no  physical 
stimuli,  and  no  well-established  or  finely  differentiated  neural 
phenomena  with  which  we  may  coordinate  them ;  but  they  are 
all,  none  the  less,  distinct  experiences,  and  not  to  be  resolved 
into  sensational  and  affective  elements.  There  are  as  many 
kinds  of  thinking  as  there  are  impersonal  relational  ex- 
periences, and  these  forms  of  thinking  are  most  readily 
grouped  according  as  their  objects  are  temporally  or  non- 
temporally  related.  Causal  thinking,  invohing  a  reference 
to  temporal  order,  belongs  to  the  first  class;  comparison, 
the  consciousness  of  objects  as  like  or  dilTerent  or  equal, 
is  a  form  of  non-temporal  thinking,  for  2X2  is  4,  and 
white  is  other  tlian  black,  not  now  or  to-morrow,  Init  with- 
out any  reference  to  time.  To  discuss  in  detail  all  the 
forms  of  thought  would  carry  us  beyond  our  limits.  We 
shall,  therefore,  consider  only  three:  conception,  judgment, 
and  reasoning. 


136  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

I.    Conception 
a.     The  Nature  of  Conception.^ 

Conception  is  the  relational  consciousness  (reflectively  at- 
tributed to  other  selves  also)  of  a  group  or  of  an  object  as 
member  of  a  group.  Conception  is,  indeed,  distinguished 
from  all  other  kinds  of  consciousness  by  its  generalized  object. 
I  perceive  or  imagine,  for  example,  my  own  striped  pussy  or  the 
pumpkin  on  the  kitchen  table,  but  I  conceive  the  class  '  cats,' 
or  'any  pumpkin.'  Conceptions  of  both  sorts  are  the  terms, 
as  will  appear,  of  general  judgments  expressed  in  such  prop- 
ositions as  "cats  eat  mice,"  or  "pumpkin  is  for  making  pies." 

The  relational  experiences  especially  distinctive  of  concep- 
tion are  the  experiences  of  generality.  These  are  two  (corre- 
sponding with  the  two  sorts  of  object  of  conception) :  the 
consciousness  of  class,  and  the  consciousness  of  'anyness,'  that 
is,  of  membership  in  a  class.  Thus,  my  consciousness  of  the 
pumpkin  includes  not  only  (i)  the  sensational  consciousness, 
probably  indistinct  and  shifting,  of  the  yellowness,  smoothness, 
and  roundness  of  the  pumpkin  and  (2)  the  vague  relational 
consciousness  of  oneness  and  of  distinctness  —  for  if  this  were 
all,  conception  \^'ould  not  be  structurally  different  from  per- 
ception and  imagination  —  but  also  (3)  one  of  the  two  rela- 
tional experiences  of  generality,  the  consciousness  of  class 
or  the  consciousness  of  '  any.'  Neither  of  these  is  a  strictly 
elemental  consciousness.  The  first  is  the  consciousness  of 
the  oneness  of  many  similars,  and  therefore  involves  at  least 
three  elemental  experiences.  The  second  is  the  consciousness 
of  similarity  to  the  many  forming  a  group,  and  is  consequently 
even  more  complex.  But  somewhat  as  the  sensational  con- 
sciousness of  quality,  the  consciousness  of  intensity,  and  that 


The  Nature  of  Conception  137 

of  extensity  fuse  in  a  sensation,  so  the  relational  elements  fuse 
in  a  consciousness  of  generality. 

Conception  may  be  described  cither  in  terms  of  its  object  or 
in  terms  of  the  elemental  kinds  of  consciousness  into  which  it 
is  structurally  analyzable,  for  the  two  sorts  of  description  are, 
roughly  speaking,  parallel.  From  the  first  point  of  view, 
conception  is  classified  by  reference  to  the  common  features  of 
the  class  which  constitutes  its  object ;  according  to  structural 
content,  conception  differs  in  that  the  consciousness  of  gener- 
ality attaches  to  one  or  another  of  the  experiences  into  which 
the  conception  is  analyzable.  It  would  be  foolish  to  attempt 
an  exhaustive  enumeration;  but  three  important  types  of 
conception  must  be  named.  These  are  (i)  verbal,  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  class  (or  member  of  a  class)  whose  common 
character  is  a  name;  (2)  relational,  the  consciousness  of  a 
class  (or  of  a  member  of  a  class)  whose  common  character  is 
a  relation  —  say  of  order,  opposition,  or  degree ;  (3)  motor,  the 
consciousness  of  a  class  (or  member  of  a  class)  whose  common 
character  consists  in  this,  that  each  one  of  the  class  calls  forth 
a  similar  bodily  reaction.  These  descriptions  are  in  terms  of 
the  object  of  conception.  Described  from  the  standpoint  of 
structural  analysis,  verbal  conception  is  the  i)erception  or 
imagination  of  a  word,  supplemented  by  a  feeling  of  generality ; 
relational  conception  is  that  in  which  the  consciousness  either 
of  class  or  of  'anyness'  attaches  itself  to  a  j^redominantly 
relational  experience;  ynolor  conception  is  conception  in 
which  the  consciousness  of  bodily  reaction  is  the  significant 
and  characteristic  centre  to  which  the  consciousness  of  'class' 
or  of  'any'  attaches. 

Verbal  conception  is  said  to  occur  in  all  al)stract  thinking. 
The  conceptions  of  'justice,'  of  '[)ower,'  of  'benexolencc,'  may 


'0 


8  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 


consist  mainly  of  verbal  imagination  augmented  by  a  feeling  of 
generality.  Yet  the  role  of  verbal  imagination  in  thinking 
has  probably  been  overemphasized ;  and  abstract  conception 
is  doubtless  more  often  relational  than  purely  verbal.  When, 
for  example,  in  studying  logic  or  theoretical  natural  science,  I 
conceive  order,  series,  function,  force,  or  causality,  my  con- 
sciousness is  best  described  as  a  relational  experience  accom- 
panied by  the  consciousness  (also  relational)  of  generality; 
and  the  object  of  my  thought  is  rather  a  relation  than  a 
word. 

Concrete  conception  is  in  great  part  of  the  motor  type.  The 
generalized  feature  of  my  'hat,'  for  example,  is  not  the 
material,  or  color,  or  form,  because  no  one  of  these  is  common 
to  the  innumerable,  widely  different  objects  known  as  hats. 
Between  the  minister's  silk  hat  and  his  wife's  picture-hat  with 
the  ostrich  feather  there  is,  in  fact,  little  in  common  except  the 
characteristic  motor  reaction  called  forth  by  each.  The  hat 
is  thus  the  'to-be-put-on-the-head,'  and  this  imagination  of 
bodily  reaction  is  probably  the  part  of  my  consciousness  of 
'hat'  which  is  accompanied  by  the  experience  of  generality 
and  followed  by  a  series  of  images,  —  of  mortar-board,  cardi- 
nal's hat,  and  peasant's  cap,  —  very  different  objects,  similar 
in  this  one  respect,  that  they  are  things  to  be  put  on  the  head. 
In  the  same  way,  foods  differ  in  every  conceivable  particular 
of  color,  form,  and  consistency,  but  agree  in  calling  forth  a 
common  system  of  bodily  movements.  The  generalized  fea- 
ture of  the  object  '  food '  is  thus  the  fact  that  it  is  the  '  to-be- 
eaten.'  In  the  same  way,  the  pen  is  the  '  to-be-written-with,' 
the  flower  is  the  '  to-be-smelled'  or  'to-bc-picked,'  the  chair 
is  the  '  to-be-sat-down-in.'  ^ 

A  final  teaching  about  conception  is  the  following:    The 


The  Nature  of  Conception  139 

conception  belonging  to  a  given  moment  is  associative  of 
a  scries  of  images  of  closely  resembling  objects/  In  other 
words,  a  conception  forms  the  starting-point  for  a  scries  of 
partial  associations.  This  mark  of  conception,  it  will  be  ob- 
served, is  not  a  constituent  feature  but  a  function  of  it  —  not 
a  part  of  it,  but  a  result  of  it,  as  it  were.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  a  conception  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  followed  by  a 
series,  longer  or  shorter,  of  images  of  objects  said  to  belong 
to  a  class.  The  conception  of  'boat,'  for  example,  suggests  a 
panoramic  series  of  images  of  canoes,  sloops,  fishing  schooners, 
and  warships;  and  the  conception  of  'bag'  is  followed  by  a 
rapidly  shifting  procession  of  images  of  travelling  bag,  shoe  bag, 
ragbag,  knitting  bag.  This  function  of  suggesting  the  images 
of  similar  objects  is  often  expressed  by  saying  that  a  concep- 
tion, or  generalization,  "represents"  or  "stands  for"  a  group 
of  similar  objects.  Herein  it  is  sharply  contrasted  with  un- 
gcneralizcd  perception  or  imagination.  My  perception  of  one 
particular  kind  of  opal  ring  is  likely  to  associate  an  imagi- 
nation of  the  odd  little  shop  in  "la  rue  de  la  Grosse 
Horloge,"  where  I  bought  the  ring,  and  this  in  turn  may 
be  followed  by  the  image  of  the  friend  who  incited  me 
to  buy  it  and  by  the  memory  of  her  disquisition  on  ancient 
gems.  The  images  succeeding  on  perception  or  imagina- 
tion may  thus  be  of  objects  very  different  from  each  other 
and  from  the  initiating  experience.  In  the  case  of  con- 
ception it  is  otherwise.  The  conception  'ring,'  for  example, 
associates  a  series  of  images  of  rings,  each  resembling  all 
the  others  in  the  possession  of  certain  common  qualities, 
and  the  conception  'theorem'  is  followed  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  ])ropositions  and  of  figures  from  the  dilTerent 
books  of  Euclid,  each  more  or  less  similar  to  the  rest. 


140  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

b.    The  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Conccpiion 

There  is  no  more  insistent  mental  impulse  and  no  more  per- 
sistent mental  habit  than  that  of  framing  conceptions.  Once 
I  have  learned  to  generalize  I  am  eager  to  refer  every  new 
object,  event,  or  situation  to  its  class,  and  to  regard  it  as  'any' 
or  as  '  one  of  a  group '  and  not  merely  as '  this.'  I  see  an  oddly 
shaped  piece  of  metal;  it  is  an  irregular,  oblong  object, 
silvery,  carven,  hollow :  I  am  uneasy  until  I  -classify  it  as  a 
vase  or  as  a  tea-caddy  or  as  a  paper-weight,  that  is,  until  I 
group  it  with  other  objects  similar  to  it  in  few  or  in  many  char- 
acters. Or  I  find,  as  I  walk  for  the  first  time  in  the  Maine 
woods,  a  flower  which  I  never  have  seen,  and  I  do  not  rest 
until  I  group  it  with  the  orchids,  regarding  it  not  as  a  single 
individual  but  as  one  of  a  class. 

This  ineradicable  tendency  has  its  justification,  and  —  in 
a  way  —  its  explanation,  in  the  significance  of  conception  in 
the  mental  life.  It  is  true  that  by  conceiving  I  in  no  wise 
enlarge  my  experience  —  that  is,  I  learn  nothing  in  the 
technical  sense  of  the  word  '  learn ' ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  wisely  sort  out  and  distribute  and  preserve  the  re- 
sults of  past  experience.  In  a  word,  conception  is  a  form 
of  mental  thrift,  a  canny  economy  of  one's  mental  attainments. 
It  will,  however,  appear  in  the  next  chapter  that  the  general 
judgment  (which  is  merely  the  conception  supplemented  by  a 
feeling  of  wholeness  and  analyzed  by  discriminating  attention) 
is  an  important  constituent  of  reasoning ;  *  and  in  this  way 
conception,  like  memory,  though  itself  a  preserving  function, 
lays  the  foundation  for  creative  experience,  for  acquisition. 
It  will  be  shown,  also,  in  our  study  of  will,  how  conception 

*  Cf.  Chapter  X.,  pp.  148  ff. 


The   Uses  (Did  Dangers  of  Coneepiion  141 

simplifies  choice  by  helping  us  to  subordinate  j)articular 
possibilities  of  thought  or  action*  to  classes  which  \vi'  ha\e 
earlier  chosen  or  rejected.  In  brief,  generalization  groups 
objects  of  our  consciousness,  and  the  result  of  this  group- 
ing is  that  a  single  pulse  of  attention  covers  a  mass  of 
phenomena  that  must  otherwise  be  dealt  with  singly,  at 
great  loss  of  time,  or  utterly  neglected. 

It  will  later  be  shown  that  conception  has  a  social  as  well 
as  a  mainly  individual  value  in  that  it  facilitates  intercourse 
between  conscious  beings  by  making  possible  conventional 
language.f  Conception  aids  intercourse  also  in  an  even 
more  fundamental  way.  We  communicate  with  people  the 
more  readily  because  we  and  they  form  conceptions.  For  in 
conceiving  we  lay  stress  on  common  experiences  and  we  ab- 
stract from  that  which  is  peculiar  to  ourselves.  Thus,  we 
may  talk  or  write  to  people  who  have  met  few  or  none  of  the 
particular  objects  of  our  acquaintance  precisely  because  we 
have  common  conceptions;  because,  for  e.\amj)le,  we  mutually 
know  'friends'  and  'foods'  and  'amusements,'  though  we 
have  no  common  friends,  and  live  on  different  fare,  and  amuse 
ourselves  in  very  different  ways. 

It  is  time  to  turn  from  this  enumeration  of  the  advantages 
to  a  consideration  of  the  dangers  of  conception.  Conception  is, 
as  has  appeared,  a  form  of  generalization,  and  may  therefore 
menace  the  life  of  imagination,  of  reasoning,  and  of  emotion. 
We  are  best  fitted,  at  our  present  stage  of  progress,  to  under- 
stand the  first  of  these  perils.  The  fundamental  excellencies 
of  imagination  are  vividness  and  accuracy  of  detail.  Concep- 
tion, on  the  other  hand,  implies  indistinctness  and  vagueness 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XTI.,  p.  229. 
t  Cf.  Chapter  X.,  p.  162. 


142  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

of  sensational  detail.  My  conccj^tion  of  andirons  may  be,  to 
be  sure,  an  imagination  (supplemcnlcd  by  a  feeling  of  gen- 
erality) of  andirons;  but  the  sensational  experiences  of  color, 
of  shape,  and  of  surface,  are  far  less  vivid  and  detailed  than 
in  concrete  imagining.  Indeed,  if  I  were  vividly  imagining 
the  andirons,  I  should  be  absorbed  in  this  particular  expe- 
rience; it  would  no  longer  'stand  for,'  or  associate,  a  lot  of 
similar  images ;  it  would  be  a  '  this'  not  an  '  any.'  Evidently, 
therefore,  one  ne\'er  forms  a  conception  save  at  the  expense 
of  one's  imagination;  and  it  follows  that  one  should  never 
generalize  when  sensational  richness  is  one's  chief  concern. 
Obviously,  also,  conception  is  peculiarly  opposed  to  creative 
imagining,  the  consciousness  of  the  novel,  for  to  conceive  is 
precisely  to  ignore  what  is  new,  to  seize  on  every  novel  object, 
scene,  or  event,  and  triumphantly  to  shut' it  in  with  its  pred- 
ecessors in  a  pigeon-hole  already  labelled.  It  is,  of  course, 
true  that  conception  may  effectively  work  over  the  products 
of  creative  imagination,  but  too  exclusive  occupation  with 
the  general  leaves  no  scope  for  originality  or  initiative.  For 
a  similar  reason,  conception  imperils  emotion  and  will. 
These,  as  will  later  appear,  are  intensely  individualizing  ex- 
periences, whereas  conception,  ignoring  differences,  reduces 
people  and  objects  to  groups  and  to  classes.  There  is,  thus, 
a  double  reason  why  the  artist  should  eschew  generalizations. 
For  the  work  of  art  should  be  an  embodiment  of  the  imagina- 
tion of  its  maker  and  an  incitement  to  the  aesthetic  emotion 
of  the  observer;  and  both  imagination  and  emotion  are 
particularizing  experiences  which  have  no  concern  with  the 
general  as  such. 

Yet  conception,  rightly  guarded,  is  of  highest  importance 
to  us.     For  though  our  lives  are  mere  colorless  routine  if  we 


The  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Conception  143 

generalize  where  we  ought  to  cherish  the  vi\i(l  and  the  indi- 
vichial,  yet  our  h'xes  are  chaos  unless  they  are  ordered  by 
the  awareness  of  rule  and  group.  Without  encroaching  on  the 
province  of  imagination  we  may  wisely,  therefore,  train  our- 
sehes  to  frame  useful  conceptions.  And  such  training  will 
he  gained  both  b}-  attention  to  similarities  of  appearance, 
behavior,  and  relation,  and  by  the  attempt  to  follow  general 
reasonings  as  embodied  in  scientific  and  philosophical  works. 


CHAPTER   X 

THOUGHT  {continued):  judgment   and  reasoning 

II.     Judgment 

By  '  judgment,'  as  the  term  is  used  in  this  book,  is  meant  the 

relational  consciousness  of  a  whole  as  including  or  excluding 

certain  emphasized  features,  an  experience  reflectively  known 

as  shareable  with  other  selves.     The  term  '  judgment '  is  used, 

also,  both  technically  and  popularly,  to  indicate  affirmation  or 

belief;  but,  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  no  other  single  word 

can  express  the  consciousness  of  a  whole,  and  it  is  better, 

therefore,  to  use  'judgment'  in  this  sense,  leaving  to  the  word 

'affirmation'  the  other  function.     From   the   definition  just 

formulated,  it  is  evident  that  judgment,  structurally  regarded, 

is  a  complex  of  elements  of  consciousness,  characterized  by  the 

relational  experience  of  '  wholeness.'     The  related  object  of 

judgment  may  be  of  any  type:    external  thing,  other  self,, 

inner  experience ;  I  may,  for  example,  make  judgments  about 

my  hat,  my  friend,  or  my  theory  —  that  is,  I  may  regard  any 

one  of  the  three  as  a  complex  whole  and  may  emphasize  by 

my  attention  a  character  included  as  a  part  of  this  whole  or 

else  excluded  from  it.     The  judgment  whose   object  is  an 

external  thing  evidently  is  a  perception,  an  imagination,  or  a 

concrete  conception,  supplemented  by  the  consciousness  of 

wholeness.     The  distinction   between  these  different  sorts  of 

consciousness  of  external  thing  is  vague  and  shifting.     For 

144 


Judgment  145 

example,  I  look  oil"  at  a  gray  church  spire,  half  a  mile  below 
me,  and  have  a  consciousness  of  grayness,  form,  roughness, 
oneness,  and  limitedness.  I  do  not  reflect  upon  this  object  nor 
analyze  it ;  and  no  one  part  of  it  —  grayness  or  tapering 
height  —  impresses  me  more  than  another.  So  far,  then,  my 
experience  is  mere  perception.  But  now,  for  some  reason,  the 
grayness  of  the  spire  draws  my  attention ;  I  lay  little  stress  on 
its  form,  but  I  am  interested  in  its  color,  —  in  other  words, 
I  have  an  'abstract  notion'  of  the  color.  Finally,  however, 
I  am  conscious  of  the  grajness  as  a  part  of  the  spire,  as  belong- 
ing to  it,  as  forming  with  its  shape  and  other  features  one 
whole;  and  now  for  the  first  time  I  am  judging,  conscious 
of  a  complex  as  a  whole  inclusive  of  an  emphasized  part.  Per- 
ception and  perceptual  judgment  alike  are  distinguished,  first, 
from  abstraction  by  their  complexity,  and  second,  from  the 
total  sensational  complex  by  their  limitedness.  But  judg- 
ment is  distinguished  from  i)ercc])tion  by  the  added  feeling  of 
wholeness,  and  by  the  invariable  emphasis  of  some  part  within 
its  total  or  of  some  excluded  factor.  The  three  sorts  of  expe- 
rience—  perception,  abstraction,  perce])tual  judgment  —  may 
be  represented  in  words,  by  the  expressions:  "I  am  conscious 
of  this  gray  spire,"  " .  .  .  of  grayness,"  " .  .  .  that  this  spire  is 
gray."  The  propositional  form  of  the  last  clause  em])hasizes 
both  the  totality  of  the  object  of  the  judgment  and  the  empha- 
sized part  of  it.  These  are  examples  of  particular  judgments, 
A  similar  general  judgment  would  be  expressed  in  the  words, 
"I  am  conscious  that  Gothic  spires  are  gray." 

Judgments  are  classified  in  several  ways.*  *     To  begin  with, 
they  arc,   as  has  just  appeared,    (i)   ])articular  or  general, 

*  These  Arabic  numerals  refer  to  the  numhcrcd  paragraphs  of  Appcmh'x, 
Section  X. 


146  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

according  as  they  start  from  perception  (or  from  imagination) 
or  else  from  conception.  Judgments  are  grouped,  in  the 
second  place,  as  (2)  positive  or  negative,  according  as  an 
emphasized  factor  is  included  or  excluded  from  the  object  of 
the  judgment — that  is,  from  the  whole  of  which,  in  judging, 
one  is  conscious.  Judgments,  finally  (3),  may  be  classified 
from  the  manner  of  their  formation,  as  analytic  or  synthetic, 
that  is,  as  judgments  of  reflection  or  of  discovery.  An 
analytic  judgment  is  the  result  of  attention  to  a  whole  (ex- 
ternal thing,  or  self,  or  my  own  experience).  For  example, 
I  have  seen  shadows  on  the  snow  a  hundred  times,  but  at 
last  I  emphasize,  by  attention,  the  distinctly  blue  color  of  the 
shadows  cast  by  tree  trunks;  and  then  for  the  first  time  I 
make  the  judgment  expressed  in  the  words,  "  the  shadows  are 
blue."  I  am  then  definitely  conscious  of  the  whole  "blue 
shadows,"  within  which  I  emphasize  the  character  of  blue- 
ness.  I  may  make,  in  similar  circumstances,  a  negative  ana- 
lytic judgment  if  I  am  conscious  that  "the  shadows  arc  not 
gray."  In  this  case  the  'judgment'  is  rather  to  be  described 
as  complex  of  succeeding  imagination  upon  persisting  per- 
ception (or  upon  imagination)  than  as  simple  perception  or 
imagination.  For  example,  this  experience  of  being  conscious 
that  "the  shadows  are  not  gray"  is  a  succession  of  the 
imagination  of  gray  shadows  upon  the  perception  of  blue 
ones.  The  feeling  of  wholeness  attaches  to  the  perception 
of  blue  shadows;  but  the  emphasis  of  attention  falls  also  on 
the  excluded  character,  the  grayncss. 

A  synthetic  judgment  arises  through  the  successive  con- 
sciousness of  different  objects.  In  the  positive  synthetic 
judgments  the  two  objects  are  then  regarded  as  parts  of  one 
whole.     Thus,  on   the  perception  of  a  toad  c^uietly  sunning 


Judgment  147 

himself  follows  mv  perception  of  liis  mouth  opcnint^  in  enj^ulf 
a  lly.  The  eluiraeter  of  eatinj;  Hies  forms,  henceforth,  a  factor 
of  the  whole,  'toad  eating  llies,'  which  is  the  oljject  of  my 
judgment.  In  this  case  (of  synthetic  judgment),  though  the 
judgment  is  reached  by  a  sequence  of  perception  on  ])ercep- 
tion,  the  judgment  itself  is  complex  perception  or  imagination 
(with  emphasized  part),  characterized  by  feeling  of  wholeness. 
It  should  be  noted  that  the  object  of  a  judgment  may  con- 
ceivably include  more  than  one  emphasized  part.  Since, 
however,  our  attention  is  very  limited,  it  is  probable  that  the 
greater  number  of  judgments  include,  psychologically  as  well 
as  logically,  but  a  single  predicate.  The  judgment,  for  ex- 
ample, "paramecia  are  unicellular  and  have  but  one  form 
of  reaction,"  though  expressed  in  a  single  proposition,  is,  for 
most  of  us,  two  judgments,  in  which  the  feeling  of  whole- 
ness attaches  successively  to  the  consciousness  of  the  complex 
objects,  'paramecia-unicellular'  and  '  paramecia-reacting-in- 
one-way.' 

One  final  distinction  must  be  noted.  Negative  judgments 
are  always  analytic,  for  tliey  can  be  framed  only  on  the  basis 
of  such  experience  as  makes  a  judgment  analytic.  T  can  at- 
tribute a  character  to  an  object,  though  I  have  never  before  been 
conscious  of  the  two  together  —  for  example,  I  can  make  the 
synthetic  positive  judgment,  "some  water-lilies  are  pink"; 
but  I  cannot  exclude  from  an  oljject  anything  which  1  do  not 
first  imagine  as  belonging  to  it.  Thus,  the  judgment,  "these 
water-lilies  are  not  white,"  involves  an  earlier  percept  or  image 
of  water-lilies  as  white;  and  the  judgment,  "  this  soup  is  not 
hot,"  implies  that  soup  should  be  hot,  that  is,  it  implies  a 
former  acquaintance  with  hot  soup.  These  are,  therefore, 
analytic  judgments. 


148  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

III.    Reasoning 
a.    Tlie  Nature  and  Classes  of  Reasoning 

Judgment  is  best  known  in  the  form  of  reasoning.  We 
seldom  reflect  upon  the  single  judgment,  the  mere  conscious- 
ness of  discriminated  wholeness  in  our  immediate  perception 
and  imagination,  but  we  notice  the  continuous  judging  which 
we  call  reasoning.  A  reasoning,  or  a  demonstration,  is  a 
succession  of  judgments  leading  to  a  new  judgment.  It  has 
two  main  forms  — •  deductive  reasoning,  in  which  the  con- 
cluding judgment  is  narrower  in  scope  than  some  one  of  the 
preceding  judgments,  and  inductive  reasoning,  in  which  the 
conclusion  is  wider  than  any  preceding  judgment.  These 
distinctions  must  be  illustrated  and  elaborated. 

The  objects  of  the  succeeding  judgments  of  deductive  rea- 
soning are  related  in  the  following  way:  each  of  the  partial 
objects  forming  the  total  object  of  the  conclusion,  or  final 
judgment,  has  been  combined  (as  object  of  a  preceding 
judgment)  with  another  partial  object,  the  '  middle  term ' ; 
and  this  middle  term  docs  not  form  an  emphasized  part  of 
the  object  of  the  conclusion.  The  objects  of  these  succeed- 
ing judgments  may  be  symbolized  thus :  xy,  yz,  xz,  where  y 
stands  for  the  suppressed  middle  term.  In  more  concrete 
fashion,  this  description  of  deductive  reasoning  is  illustrated 
by  any  actual  instance.  Suppose,  for  example,  the  succes- 
sive judgments  expressed  in  the  following  propositions:  — 

My  table  bell  does  not  ring. 

It  is  an  electric  bell. 

An  electric  bell  with  renewed  battery  rings. 

My  bell,  with  renewed  batteries,  will  ring. 


The  Nature  and  Classes  of  Reasoning  149 

Here  the  first  judgment  is  the  consciousness  of  the  bell,  with 
emphasis  on  the  excluded  character  of  ringing.  The  second 
judgment  is  an  accentuation  of  still  another  character  of  the 
bell  —  the  fact  of  its  being  an  electric  bell,  and  consists  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  bell  as  a  whole,  with  special  stress  on  the 
fact  of  its  electric  connections.  In  the  third  judgment  most 
characters  of  the  bell  are  unattended  to,  but  the  consciousness 
of  it  as  electric  is  still  emphasized  and  is  supplemented  by  a 
new  consciousness,  that  of  connection  with  renewed  batteries. 
Finally,  in  the  conclusion,  the  character  of  the  bell  as  itself 
electric  is  relatively  unaccented,  but  the  two  characters  suc- 
cessively connected  with  this,  (i)  that  of  the  bell  as  ringing  (or 
not  ringing)  and  (2)  that  of  the  bell  as  connected  with  a  re- 
newed battery  arc  realized  as  emphasized  parts  of  the  whole, 
'table  bell  which  rings  because  connected  with  renewed 
batteries.'  Thus,  the  concluding  judgment  is  the  realized 
connection  of  the  terms  of  two  preceding  judgments;  each 
of  these  terms  was  previously  connected  with  a  third 
term,  now  unemphasizcd ;  and  the  whole  experience  is 
properly  called  '  deductive  reasoning '  or  '  mediate  judg- 
ment.' 

Inductive  reasoning  is  less  complex.  A  series  of  parallel, 
particular  judgments  is  followed  by  a  judgment,  general 
or  particular,  more  inclusive  than  any  of  the  preceding 
judgments.  From  several  observations,  for  example,  of 
the  fact  that  sal  ammoniac  added  to  the  batteries 
makes  the  bell  ring,  I  formulate  the  general  judgment 
expressed  in  the  proposition,  "all  electric  bells  ring 
when  the  batteries  are  renewed."  Such  inductive  reason- 
ing is  thus  expressed  in  a  syllogism  of  the  following 
sort : — 


150  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

The  electric  bell  in  the  physiological  laboratory  rang  when 

sal  ammoniac  was  added  to  the  battery. 
The  electric  bell  in  the  laundry  rang  when  sal  ammoniac 

was  added  to  the  battery. 
The  electric  bell    in    the  fire-engine  house  rang  when  sal 

ammoniac  was  added  to  the  battery. 
All  electric  bells  ring  when  sal  ammoniac  is  added. 

It  is  clear  that  induction  is  a  normal  precursor  and  pre- 
liminary to  deductive  reasoning.  For  example,  the  conclusion 
of  this  inductive  syllogism  about  electric  bells  forms  part  of 
the  deductive  reasoning  about  the  table  bell.  All  scientific  rea- 
soning is,  in  truth,  a  combination  of  induction  with  deduction  — 
a  series  of  particular  judgments  leading  to  general  conclusions 
followed  by  the  application  of  these  conclusions  to  still  other 
particulars.  The  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy,  for  ex- 
ample, was  formulated  as  a  result  of  successive  judgments, 
based  on  observation.  The  repeated  observations  of  Carnot, 
Joule,  Mayer,  and  Helmholtz,  that  mechanical  energy  is  con- 
vertible into  an  equal  amount  of  heat  led  to  the  formulation 
of  the  general  principle  that  "to  create  or  annihilate  energy  is 
impossible  and  that  all  material  phenomena  consist  in  trans- 
formations of  energy."  The  law%  once  formulated  through 
induction,  was  applied  to  energy  of  all  sorts  —  of  light,  of 
electricity,  of  magnetism;  and  again  these  deductions  have 
been  inductively  established.  Thus,  induction  and  deduc- 
tion supplement  each  other  in  all  effective  scientific  procedure. 
It  must  be  noted,  however,  that  deductive  reasoning 
is  not  universally  based  on  induction.  Instead,  it  may  be 
based  upon  judgment  immediately  known  as  universal. 
An  example  is  expressed  in  the  following  syllogism :  — 


The  Nature  and  Classes  of  Rcasoniiii^  151 

Angles  A  and  B  arc  alternate  internal  angles. 
Alternate  internal  angles  are  equal. 
Therefore  A  and  B  are  equal. 

Here  the  second  judgment  is  perfectly  general,  or  universal, 
but  its  universality  is  not  derived  from  the  enumeration  of 
many  instances  of  equal  alternate-internal  angles. 

Reasoning,  whether  deductive  or  inductive,  may  consist 
of  varying  combinations  of  many  sorts  of  judgment.  The 
judgments  which  it  includes  may  be  positive  or  negative, 
particular  or  general,  analytic  or  synthetic.  In  the  example 
of  page  148,  for  instance,  the  first  judgment  is  negative,  the 
others  positive;  the  first,  second,  and  last  are  particular  judg- 
ments referring  to  my  own  tal)le  bell,  Imt  tlie  third  is  a  gen- 
eral judgment,  the  consciousness  of  an  important  character, 
connection  with  renewed  batteries,  of  the  whole  class  of  ringing 
electric  bells.  The  final  distinction,  that  between  analytic 
and  synthetic  judgments,  since  it  concerns  only  the  manner 
of  formation,  not  the  character  of  the  finished  judgment,  is 
not  readily  expressible  in  words.  It  is,  however,  probable  that 
the  first  and  fourth  of  these  judgments  are  analytic,  and  that 
the  third  is  synthetic.  The  second  judgment  may  be  either 
analytic  or  synthetic.  It  is  the  business  of  formal  logic  to 
study  separately  these  different  forms  of  reasoning  in  order 
to  distinguish  them  as  valid  or  as  in\alid.  Thus,  the  logician 
teaches  that  reasoning  is  illicit  if  it  is  made  uj)  entirely  of 
negative  judgments,  or  if  the  conclusion  is  wider  in  sco])e  than 
the  premises  taken  together.  Psychology,  on  the  other  hand, 
studies  actual  cases  of  reasoning  irrespective  of  their  validity 
or  invalidity,  taking  account  |)rimarily  of  the  way  in  which 
people  do  reason,  not  of  the  way  in  which  they  should  reason. 


152  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

But  though  the  psychologist  may  concern  himself  with  all 
sorts  of  reasoning,  it  will  be  convenient  to  select  for  discussion 
the  especially  effective  type  of  deductive  reasoning — founded 
often  on  induction  —  which  may  be  known  as  analytic- 
synthetic  reasoning.  It  consists  of  the  following  order  of 
judgments:  there  is,  first,  an  analytic  judgment  in  which  some 
one  feature  of  a  whole  object  is  singled  out  and  brought  to  the 
foreground  of  attention ;  second,  a  synthetic  judgment  whose 
object  is  the  emphasized  part  of  the  first  judgment's  object 
combined  with  some  new  character;  and,  finally,  a  judg- 
ment whose  object  is  the  originally  unanalyzed  whole,  supple- 
mented by  this  new  character.  Analytic-synthetic  reasoning 
may  thus  be  described  in  the  words  which  James  applies  to 
judgment  in  general,  as  the  'substitution  of  parts  and  their 
implications  or  consequences  for  wholes.'  One  concerns 
oneself,  for  example,  with  the  question  of  the  restriction  of  the 
power  of  the  British  House  of  Lords.  One's  consciousness 
of  the  House  of  Lords  is  highly  complex  and  very  vague :  it 
includes  visual  imaginings  of  hall  and  of  figures,  many  verbal 
images,  and  relational  consciousness  —  in  particular  the  ex- 
perience of  wholeness.  If  any  conclusion  is  to  be  reached, 
it  must  be  by  the  emphasis  of  some  one  feature  of  that  com- 
plex object,  the  House  of  Lords  —  the  fact,  let  us  say,  that  it 
is  a  hereditary  house.  At  once  the  simpler  consciousness  of 
'  hereditary  house '  suggests  (as  the  consciousness  of  the  more 
complex  object  had  failed  to  suggest)  that  a  hereditary  body 
under  constitutional  government  should  not  interfere  with 
legislation.  This  character  supplements  the  initial  object  of 
judgment,  the  British  House  of  Lords,  and  is  realized  as  form- 
ing with  it  a  whole.  We  have,  therefore,  as  expression  of 
this  reasoning,  the  syllogism :  — 


TJic  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Reasoning  153 

The  British  House  of  Lords  is  a  hereditary  house; 
Hereditary  bodies  should  not  interfere  with  legislation; 
The  British  House  of  Lords  should   not   interfere  with 
legislation. 

A  final  remark  must  be  made.  It  must  expressly  be  noted 
that  a  given  result  may  often  be  reached  without  reasoning 
as  well  as  through  reasoning.  The  consciousness  of  a  given 
situation  may  be  followed  immediately,  without  intervening 
judgments,  by  a  judgment  similar  to  that  to  which  one  might 
have  reasoned.  The  perception  that  my  bell  does  not  ring 
might,  for  example,  be  followed  immediately,  without  inter- 
vening analysis,  by  the  consciousness  of  adding  sal  ammoniac 
to  the  battery.  This  would  be  a  case  of  associated  imagina- 
tion and  would  be  explained  through  the  fact  that  I  had 
previously  seen  a  broken  bell  rei)aired  after  this  fashion. 
Cases  of  supposed  reasoning,  for  example  of  animal  reasoning, 
are  often  immediate  associative  imagining,  without  the  analy- 
sis and  the  mediate  judgments  involved  in  reasoning.  The 
next  section  will  compare  these  two  sorts  of  mental  pro- 
cedure. 

b.    The  Uses  and  Dangers  of  Reasoning 

The  most  efficient  form  of  reasoning  is  the  combination  of 
analytic  judgments  of  reflection  with  synthetic  judgments 
of  discovery.  Reasoning  of  this  sort  is  an  important  kind  of 
self-development,  or  learning,  a  means  of  acquiring  new  out- 
looks, new  points  of  view,  new  bases  for  action.  Analytic-syn- 
thetic reasoning  attains  these  ends  by  means  of  the  analysis 
involved  in  the  first  judgment.  For  this  judgment,  since  it  is 
analytic,  emphasizes  a  quality  or  an  attribute  within  a  whole 
object  or  situation^   and  because  this  discriminated  [)art  is 


154  ^1   First  Book  in  Psychology 

less  complex  than  the  total  in  which  it  belongs  it  has  fewer 
possible  consequences;  and  because  it  has  these  definite 
consequences,  the  analytic  judgment  is  likelier  than  a  more 
complex  experience  to  form  the  nucleus  of  a  second  judgment. 
When,  for  example,  I  judge  that  a  certain  mosslike  substance 
is  animal,  not  vegetable,  —  that  is,  when  I  emj)hasize  its 
animal  characters  —  I  readily  reach  conclusions  impossible  by 
mere  observation  of  it  as  a  whole.  All  this  is  clearly  taught 
by  James.*  "  Whereas  the  merely  empirical  thinker,"  he  says, 
"stares  at  a  fact  in  its  entirety  and  remains  helpless  or  gets 
'stuck'  if  it  suggests  no  concomitant  or  similar,  the  [analytic] 
reasoner  breaks  it  up  and  notices  some  one  of  its  separate 
attributes.  This  attribute  has  .  .  .  consequences  which  the 
fact  until  then  was  not  known  to  have." 

This  enumeration  of  the  uses  of  analytic-synthetic 
reasoning  will  be  checked  by  a  very  natural  question.  It 
has  been  pointed  out  that  this  sort  of  reasoning  is  not  the  only 
method,  though  the  usual  one,  of  enabling  us  to  reach  new 
results.  For  it  is  always  possible  that  immediate  judgment 
may  replace  even  analytic  reasoning  in  any  given  case.  One 
man  may  gain  by  a  flash  of  intuition  the  same  result  which 
another  attains  only  by  the  closest  reasoning;  and  the  bare 
result  is  as  valuable  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  But 
granting  that  the  mediate  method  of  analytic  reasoning 
is  not  the  only  way  of  attaining  the  adequate  solution,  there 
still  remain  several  unassailable  advantages  with  the  analytic 
reasoner.  His  results,  in  the  first  place,  are  readily  repeated. 
Intuitions,  that  is,  immediate  judgments  or  mere  associations, 
occur  we  know  not  how;  and  we  cannot  reproduce  them  at 
will.  The  result  which  a  man  has  reached  by  an  unexplained 
*  Op.  cit..  Vol.  II.,  p.  330. 


The   Uses  and  Dangers  of  Reasoning  155 

association,  once  forgotten,  is  beyond  his  voluntary  control. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  can  repeat  at  will  the  reasoning  founded 
on  close  analysis.  A  student  has  forgotten,  let  us  say,  the 
accusative  singular  of  the  Greek  word,  iXirk.  He  remembers, 
however,  the  reasoning  process  by  which  lie  first  fixed  in  his 
mind  the  fact  that  third  declension  nouns  in  -i?,  when  ac- 
cented on  the  last  syllable,  have  the  lengthened  accusative, 
to  avoid  the  abrupt  stop.  Thus  the  accusative  eXiriSa,  for- 
gotten in  itself,  is  remembered  as  one  link  in  a  chain  of  reason- 
ing. In  the  same  way,  one  can  repeat  a  geometrical  demon- 
stration, though  one  has  forgotten  it,  by  beginning  with  the 
close  analysis  of  the  figure;  one  can  recover  the  lost  date,  by 
reasoning  from  some  fact  associated  with  it,  by  arguing,  for 
example,  that,  a  statesman  who  smoked  could  not  have 
lived  before  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  behooves, 
therefore,  even  the  j)erson  of  quick  intuition  and  of  ready 
memory  to  train  his  reasoning  power.  The  (lash  of  inspi- 
ration may  be  more  brilliant,  but  is  surely  far  less  steady, 
than  the  light  of  reason.  The  Aladdin  role  in  the  mental 
life  is  no  sustained  part;  the  genius  which  appears  at  one's 
first  bidding  may  well  forbear  to  come  at  a  second  summons. 
In  plain  English,  the  power  to  analyze  and  to  reason  is  rela- 
liw'ly  stable,  whereas  unreasoned  association  is  capricious 
and  untrustworthy.  It  is,  therefore,  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
secure  a  reasoned  theology  or  scientific  system  or  practical 
philosophy,  precisely  because  one  thus  has  the  chance  to 
review  and  to  recall  it. 

This  suggests  another  advantage  of  reasoning  over  im- 
mediate association:  the  oj)portunity  which  it  olTers  to  the 
candid  person  to  revise  and  to  amend  his  results.  The  most 
dogmatic  and  unyielding  of  individuals  is  the  man  who  has 


156  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

jumped  at  his  conclusions.  He  is  naturally  tenacious  of  them, 
because  he  has  no  idea  how  he  came  by  them  and  no  hope  of 
gaining  any  others  if  he  lets  them  go.  So  the  most  ardent 
sectarian  is  the  one  who  doesn't  know  the  raison  d'etre  of  his 
own  sect,  and  the  most  zealous  political  partisan  can  give  you 
no  reason  for  his  vote  beyond  the  utterance  of  a  talismanic 
name  or  symbol.  It  would  be  too  much,  of  course,  to  claim 
that  every  reasoning  person  is  open-minded ;  but  it  is  quite 
fair  to  say  that  only  persons  who  reason  are  open-minded. 
For  nobody  can  reverse  his  decision  who  cannot  retrace  the 
path  of  deliberate  reasoning  which  has  led  up  to  it. 

So  far,  only  the  mainly  individual  advantages  of  reason- 
ing have  been  considered.  Reasoning  has,  none  the  less,  a 
distinctly  social  value.  For  the  reasoner  has  at  least  a  fight- 
ing chance  of  sharing  his  results  with  other  people's.  The 
lucky  man  who  guesses  correctly  may  be  brilliant  and  in- 
spiring, but  he  cannot  well  be  convincing.  He  may  be  abso- 
lutely certain  that  prohibition  does  not  prohibit,  or  that 
Sophocles  is  greater  than  Aeschylus,  or  that  Hegelianism  is 
absurd;  he  can  even  temporarily  impose  his  enthusiastic 
beliefs  on  other  people,  but  he  cannot  work  permanent 
change  in  their  intellectual  convictions.  We  are  constantly 
hearing  that  argument  is  futile,  and  yet  there  seems  no  other 
way  of  effectively  sharing  one's  conclusions. 

It  would,  however,  be  unwise  to  conclude  that  the  results 
of  reasoning  are  inevitably  good.  On  the  contrary,  there  is 
always  danger  lest  deductive  reasoning  be  trivial,  and  lest 
inductive  reasoning  be  misleading.  Deductive  reasoning, 
in  the  first  place,  is  a  waste  of  time  if  it  is  concerned  with 
unimportant  matters  which  are  as  well  turned  over  to  the 
swifter  process  of  associative   imagination;    and  deductive 


The  Uses  (Did  Daui:;rrs  of  Rcasoii'nig  157 

reasoning  is  deadening  and  dulling  when  it  chokes  the  spon- 
taneity of  imagination.  There  is  no  more  tiresome  human 
being  than  the  man  who  insists  on  arguing  every  unimportant 
detail.  Even  greater  peril  attends  the  abuse  of  inductive 
reasoning  —  namely,  incomplete  induction  based  on  scanty 
and  overhasty  observation.  General  conclusions,  inade- 
quately established  yet  obstinately  cherished,  are  terrible 
barriers  in  the  way  of  progress.  Indeed,  strictly  speaking, 
no  absolute  certainty  attaches  to  a  general  proposition  based 
on  an  induction.  As  Hume  says,  "experience  can  be  allowed 
to  give  direct  and  certain  information  of  those  ])rccise  ob- 
jects only  .  .  .  which  fell  under  its  own  cognizance;"  and 
it  is  very  rarely  possible  to  examine  directly  all  instances 
referred  to  in  an  inductively  grounded  universal  judgment. 
One  cannot,  for  example,  measure  the  results  of  all  trans- 
formations of  energy;  and  one  cannot  observe  that  every 
particle  of  matter  in  the  universe  attracts  every  other.  The 
highest  degree  of  probability  attaches  to  the  great  induc- 
tions of  science;  and  there  is  undoubted  utility  in  inductions 
based  on  fewer  observations,  provided  such  inductions 
are  used  purely  as  working  hypotheses  to  be  thrown  aside 
when  found  to  conflict  with  fresh  observations.  But  there  is 
absolutely  no  excuse  for  the  hasty  induction  except  as  starting- 
j)oint  for  further  investigation.  The  progress  of  science  has 
been  constantly  obstructed  by  this  over-tenacious  clinging 
to  the  results  of  incomplete  inductions  —  to  the  corj)uscular 
theory  of  light,  for  example,  or  to  catastrophism  as  expla- 
nation of  the  extinction  of  prehistoric  forms  of  life.  And 
the  progress  of  culture  is  perpetually  retarded  by  the  hope- 
lessly persistent  generalizations  of  shallow  thinkers  and 
superficial  observers.      Hasty   inductions  about   peoj)le   and 


158  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

nations  arc  especially  unsafe,  because  human  beings,  as  com- 
])ar(.'(l  with  ])hysical  phenomena,  are  peculiarly  irregular  in 
behavior.  And  yet  books  about  America  and  France  and 
Turkey  are  still  written  as  the  outcome  of  three-months'  ob- 
servations and  we  are  still  taught  that  all  Frenchmen  are  in- 
sincere, that  all  Americans  are  materialistic,  and  that  all  Ger- 
mans arc  musical.  To  be  sure,  many  observations  contradict 
all  these  conclusions,  but  the  motto  of  the  inveterate  general- 
izer  has  been  well  stated  in  the  words,  "  If  the  facts  don't  cor- 
respond with  my  theory,  so  much  the  worse  for  the  facts." 
The  truth  is  that  there  should  be  no  exception  to  the  rule: 
inadequate  inductions  are  never  to  be  made  except  as  basis 
for  necessary  decision  or  for  further  scientific  testing. 

c.     Bodily  Conditions  and   Accompaniments  of    Thought  — 
in  Particular  of  Reasoning 

We  reminded  ourselves  at  the  outset  of  our  study  that 
physiological  and  psychical  phenomena  seem  to  correspond 
closely,  and  that  the  human  body  is  the  most  constant  of 
the  objects  of  our  perception.  Accordingly  we  undertook  to 
classify  and,  as  far  as  possible,  to  explain  the  facts  of  our 
consciousness  by  constant  reference  to  regularly  preceding, 
accompanying,  and  following  bodily  processes.  We  have 
now  to  carry  out  this  part  of  our  programme  with  reference  to 
thought,  and  in  particular  with  reference  to  reasoning.  So 
far  as  brain  processes  are  concerned,  little  need  be  added 
to  what  has  been  said  about  the  brain  conditions  of  rela- 
tional experience.*  More  obviously  significant  than  these 
hypothesized  brain  conditions  are  the  observable  bodily  re- 
actions which  accompany  thinking.     They  vary,  of  course, 

*  Cf.  Chapter  VIII.,  p.  12S. 


Bodily  Accompaniments  of  Reasoning  159 

with  the  different  forms  of  thought,  but  we  should  notice 
especially  first,  the  habitual  reactions  called  forth  by  concep- 
tions (as  by  perceptions) ;  *  and  second,  the  delayed  and 
often  hesitating  reactions  which  accompany  reasoning.  The 
habitual  movements  corresponding  to  our  concei)tions 
have  been  discussed  in  the  preceding  chapter. f  The  hesi- 
tating reactions  of  reasoning  demand  further  comment.  As 
contrasted  with  the  relatively  immediate  reactions  which 
accom[)any  our  perceiving,  our  imagining,  and  even  certain 
forms  of  thinking,  —  swift  comparisons,  for  example,  —  the 
outward  behavior  in  reasoning  is  markedly  slow.  Let  us 
suppose,  for  example,  that  a  boy  jumps  into  his  dory  and 
l)ushes  off  for  a  row.  To  place  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks  is 
a  reaction,  coordinated  through  experience,  which  follows  at 
once  at  sight  of  the  oars.  But  suppose  that  the  oars  have  been 
left  behind,  and  that  he  reasons  out,  somewhat  as  follows, 
the  way  of  getting  back  to  shore :  — 

An  oar  is  simply  an  oblong  board ; 

Any  oblong  board  will  serve  as  oar; 

The  seat  or  the  board  in  the  bottom  is  an  oblong  board; 

The  seat  will  serve  as  oar. 

The  bodily  reactions  which  accompany  this  reasoning  do  not 
follow  instantaneously  on  his  consciousness  that  the  oars  are 
gone.  There  is  perhajjs  a  moment,  while  he  is  thinking  of 
the  forgotten  oars,  when  he  makes  no  movement;  then  his 
eyes  wander  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  boat;  then  he 
grasps  the  board  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  tries  in  vain  to 
pry  it  up;   finally  he  loosens  the  seat  and  begins  awkwardly 

*  Cf.  Chapter  V.,  p.  88. 
t  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  p,  138. 


lOo  A  First  Book  in   Psycliology 

to  paddle  with  it.  Such  a  scries  of  bodily  motions  is  sharply 
contrasted  on  the  one  hand  with  the  instantaneous  and  co- 
ordinated reaction  which  would  have  followed  on  the  percep- 
tion of  the  oars,  and  on  the  other  hand  with  the  equally 
immediate  but  uncoordinated,  chaotic,  excited  reactions  which 
would  have  accompanied  a  mainly  emotional  (that  is,  fright- 
ened), unreasoning  consciousness  that  the  oars  were  gone.* 
In  this  latter  case  there  would  have  been  no  pause,  no  regular 
movements  of  eyes  and  hands,  but  rather  excited,  interrupted 
movements  —  shrieks,  excited  waving  of  the  hands,  jumping 
from  one  end  to  another  of  the  boat.  Conceivably,  one  of 
these  excited  movements  might  have  turned  out  to  be  suc- 
cessful in  getting  the  boat  to  shore,  — •  for  instance,  he  might 
accidentally  have  seized  the  boat-hook,  have  swept  it  back  and 
forth  in  the  water,  and  so  have  brought  himself  toward  land,  — 
Ijut  this  success  would  have  been  neither  a  result  nor  a  proof 
of  his  having  reasoned  out  the  way  of  reaching  the  shore. 
It  would  have  been  the  accidental  outcome  of  the  random 
movements  that  accompany  emotional  consciousness. 

The  obviously  hesitating  and  delayed  character  of  reason- 
ing reactions  has  furnished  to  comparative  psychologists  an 
important  objective  criterion  of  the  occurrence  of  reasoning 
in  young  children  and  in  animals.^  Untechnical  observers 
incorrectly  suppose  that  the  spontaneous,  untaught  per- 
formance of  any  successful  action,  which  is  not  an  instinctive 
response,  is  in  itself  a  proof  of  reasoning.  Accordingly,  a 
dog  who  opens  a  new  gate  or  who,  unbidden,  brings  a  sponge 
when  his  master  is  bailing  out  a  boat  is  held  to  reason.  The 
objection  to  this  conclusion  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  animal 
may  have   performed   the   supposedly  reasoned   act    either 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XI.,  p.  206. 


Bodily  Accompaniments  of  Reasoning  i6i 

through  accidental  immediate  reaction  or  else  through  mem- 
ory, not  through  reasoning.  The  dog  who  brings  the  sponge 
has,  presumably,  often  seen  the  sponge  both  in  the  boat  and 
in  the  shed  to  which  he  runs  to  fetch  it;  immediate  association 
without  reasoning  sufTices  to  explain  his  action.  And  the 
dog  who  opens  the  gate  may  have  opened  it  first  by  an  acci- 
dental mo\'ement,  and  later  by  memory  of  that  movement. 

To  test  this  last  hypothesis,  many  psychologists  have  ex- 
perimented in  the  following  fashion:  The  dog,  cat,  bird, 
monkey,  or  other  animal  on  whom  the  experiment  has  been 
made,  has  been  conhncd,  when  more  or  less  hungry,  in  a  cage, 
or  large  box;  food  has  been  placed  in  sight  of  him,  but  outside 
his  enclosure;  and  this  has  been  so  arranged  that  the  ani- 
mal may  escape  by  "manipulating  some  simple  mechanism" 
through  movements  which  he  is  perfectly  capable  of  making  — 
for  example,  by  "pulling  down  a  loop  of  wire,  depressing  a 
lever,  or  turning  a  button."  The  animals  have  invariably 
responded  by  instinctive,  excited,  random  movements  of  all 
sorts  —  by  leaping,  biting,  clawing,  trying  to  sc^ueeze  through 
holes.  In  other  words,  they  have  responded  with  the  imme- 
diate, random,  excess  movements  characteristic  of  the  affective 
and  excited  consciousness,  not  with  the  delayed  and  relatively 
calm  responses  of  the  reasoning  mind.  In  the  course  of 
these  excited  movements  they  have,  it  is  true,  chanced,  ordi- 
narily, on  the  successful  reaction  which  has  released  them  from 
confinement.  But  such  a  reaction  is  certainly  no  proof  of 
reasoning.  For  not  only  is  it  made  in  the  course  of  the 
animal's  chaotic,  random  movements;  it  is  often,  though 
not  always,  an  action  ne\-er  repeated.  To  quote  Professor 
Thorndike:  "In  the  case  of  some  dilTicult  associations," 
t]io  animals  "would  happen  to  do  the  thing  six  or   seven 

M 


i62  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

times,  but  after  long  j)crio(ls  of  j)romiscuoiis  scrabbling,  and 
then  forever  after  would  fail  to  do  it."  This  observation  has 
been  substantiated  by  other  experimenters,  and  shows  abun- 
dantly that  in  these  cases  the  successful  acts  are  performed 
accidentally,  and  not  through  reasoning.  For  what  one  has 
reasoned  out,  one  remembers:  in  Thorndike's  words:  "If 
they  had  acted  from  inference  in  any  case,  they  ought  not  to 
have  failed  in  the  seventh  or  eighth  trial.  What  had  been 
inferred  six  times  should  have  been  inferred  the  seventh."  * 

It  is  fair  to  conclude,  on  the  basis  of  this  evidence,  that 
there  is  so  far  no  proof  of  the  occurrence  of  animal  reasoning. 
None  the  less,  many  animals  possess  an  alert  and  many-sided 
intelligence ;  for  the  immediately  associated  imagination  may, 
as  has  been  pointed  out,  lead  to  the  same  result,  in  action,  as 
the  reasoned  conclusion.  In  questioning  the  ability  of  higher 
animals  to  reason,  we  are  not,  therefore,  questioning  their 
capacity  to  act  effectively,  or  their  possession  of  rich  percepts 
and  of  swift-coming  images. 

IV.    Thought  and  Language 

A  brief  consideration  of  the  nature  and  the  function  of 
language  is  rightly  included  in  this  chapter ;  for  conventional 
language  is,  in  a  way,  both  effect  and  condition  of  the  two 
significant  factors  in  thought :  generalization  and  abstraction. 
Generalization  in  its  two  forms,  conception  and  general  judg- 
ment, has  already  been  considered.  By  abstraction  ^  is  meant 
attention,  with  emphasis  upon  the  excluding  aspect  of  atten- 
tion. For  in  attending  to  anything  one  abstracts  from  the 
unattended-to  part  of  the  total  object  of  experience;   and  in 

*  Monograph  Supplement,  No.  8,  of  the  Psychological  Review.  Cf. 
Psychological  Review,  Vol.  V.,  p.  550. 


Though!  and  Language  163 

this  sense  the  attended-to  is  the  aljstract  (more  literally,  the 
abstracted),  and  attention  is  abstraction.  Language,  in  its 
widest  sense,  is  an  aggregate  of  bodily  reactions  (or  results 
of  bodily  reaction)  —  in  particular,  an  aggregate  of  articulate 
sounds  or  of  gestures  —  by  which  conscious  beings  communi- 
cate with  each  other/  Of  language,  thus  defmed,  there  are 
two  forms ;  and  the  first  of  these  is  natural  language  in  which 
the  communicated  sounds  and  gestures  are  mere  immediate 
and  instinctive  reactions,  imitative  and  interjectional  in  their 
origin.*  The  different  barks  by  which  a  dog  signals  to  an- 
other, 'food,'  'danger,'  'friend,'  are  instances  of  this  so-called 
'natural  language.'  Obviously  it  is  highly  significant  in  the 
development  of  social  relations,  emotional  and  purposive,  of 
conscious  beings  with  each  other.  Certainly,  however,  it  need 
not  inx'olve  thought  of  any  sort.  And  —  what  seems  at  first 
sight  more  curious  —  natural  language  can  be  understood  by 
such  animals  only  as  are  of  common  species  and  environment. 
Mr.  Garner,  for  example,  who  spent  many  months  in  learning 
the  'language'  of  monkeys,  in  one  of  our  Zoos,  was  disap- 
pointed in  the  hope  of  gaining  thereby  an  understanding  of 
the  cries  and  calls  of  monkeys  in  the  African  jungles.  This 
is  because  the  natural  sounds  and  movements  are  so  variously 
modified  by  differences  in  bodily  structure  and  in  environ- 
ment. 

With  conventional  language  the  case  is  different.  The 
word,  just  because  it  is  not,  in  its  present  form,  the  instinc- 
tive expression  of  any  feeling,  or  the  copy  of  any  natural  sound 
or  shape,  may  be  learned  by  all  individuals  who  are  capable 
of  apprehending  and  {)roducing  it.     A  word  is,  in  fact,  an 

*  Cf.  Chapter  V.,  p.  8g,  and  Appendix,  Section  V.  The  student  is  ad- 
vised to  read:    C.  H.  Judd,  "Psychulogy,  (leneral  Introduction,"  Chapter  X. 


164  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

artificial  sign  realized  as  representative  of  something  besides 
itself.  The  aljility  to  know  a  given  sound  or  gesture  as  a  sign 
demands  first,  abstraction,  that  is,  exclusive  attention  to  the 
representative  character  as  distinguished  from  all  the  more 
naturally  interesting  sense-qualities  of  the  sound  or  the 
gesture;  and  second,  generalization,  that  is,  the  grouping 
together  of  a  lot  of  sensibly  dissimilar  sounds  and  motions 
by  virtue  of  this  likeness  of  function.  Animals  seem  to 
lack  this  ability  to  abstract  and  generalize  the  sign-character, 
that  is,  to  learn  that  phenomena  so  different  as  w^ords  pro- 
nounced, barks,  and  paws  crossed  are  alike  in  the  character 
of  standing-for-something.^  It  follows  that  animals  make 
and  understand  sounds  and  movements  which  actually  serve 
as  signs,  but  that  they  do  not  know  sounds  and  movements  as 
belonging  together  to  the  class  '  signs.'  Thus,  I  may  teach  my 
dog.  Doc,  that  a  sharp  bark  will  secure  release  from  confine- 
ment, or  that  crossing  his  paws  will  bring  him  food,  and  I  may 
even  teach  him  to  distinguish  certain  words,  as  'food'  and 
'water,'  and  to  associate  them  with  the  appropriate  objects. 
But  he  knows  these  words  and  barks  and  postures,  each  for 
each,  as  associated  with  a  particular  object,  not  as  possessed 
of  the  general  character  of  standing-for-something  else.* 

It  has  thus  appeared  that  abstraction  and  generalization  are 
essential  to  the  formation  of  conventional  language;  and  it 
must  now  be  shown  that  abstraction  and  generalization  (the 
important  factors  of  thought)  are  greatly  facilitated  by  con- 
ventional language.  Conventional  language  aids  abstrac- 
tion or  attention,  because  the  reference  of  any  word  may  be 
so  limited.  I  may,  it  is  true,  abstract  without  the  use  of 
words  —  for  example,  in  looking  at  a  marble,  I  may  attend 

*  Cf.  James,  "Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  356. 


Thought  and  Language  165 

to  its  sha[)c,  abstracting  from  its  color;  but  I  cannot  help 
seeing  the  color  with  llie  shape,  and  therefore  the  use  of  the 
word  'spherical,'  referring  as  it  does  to  form  exclusively, 
assists  abstraction.  In  other  words,  verbal  imagination  lacks 
the  distracting  comj)lexity  of  concrete  imagination. 

Language  must,  in  the  second  place,  aid  generalization,  since 
every  word  of  a  conventional  language  (exclusi\e  of  its  proper 
nouns  and  its  interjections)  is  a  general  term  —  that  is,  the 
consciousness  of  a  word  may  suggest  any  one  of  a  whole  group 
of  objects.  Of  course  a  concrete  image  sometimes  serves  this 
same  purpose  of  suggesting  a  group  of  similar  objects,  but 
the  very  poverty  and  simplicity  of  the  word  specially  fits  it  for 
this  general  reference.  The  image,  for  example,  of  my  special 
lynx  muff  will  be  followed  by  the  consciousness  of  places  where 
I  have  carried  it,  railroad  stations  in  which  I  have  left  it,  and 
the  like,  whereas  the  perception  or  imagination  of  the  word 
'mulT,'  free  of  vivid,  particular  associations,  more  readily 
recalls  the  whole  class  of  muffs.  Thus,  words  serve  often  as 
a  sort  of  tag,  or  sign,  for  the  class  once  formed,  an  artificial 
help  toward  distinguishing  and  remembering  it. 

But  while  it  is  thus  abundantly  evident  that  thought  and 
language  are  closely  related,  we  must  guard  ourselves  against 
two  psychologically  untenable  views:  first,  the  supposition 
that  words  invariably  suggest  classes  of  objects,  and  second, 
the  belief  that  every  general  term  implies  a  corresponding 
conception.  As  to  the  first  point:  experience  shows  that 
though  a  word  is  always  a  general  term  in  the  sense  that  it 
may  suggest  a  class  of  objects,  yet  it  actually  often  suggests 
a  single  particular  object  or  relation.  The  word  'wave,' 
for  example,  in  the  lines,  "The  breaking  waves  dashed  high, 
on  a  stern  and  rockbound  coast,"  may,  of  course,  suggest  the 


t66  a  First  Book  in  Psychology 

class  'waves'  and  may  be  followed  by  a  series  of  resembling 
images — say  of  waves  of  the  sea  and  of  air-vibrations.  More 
likel}-,  however,  the  word  at  once  suggests  a  concrete  object  or 
scene ;  and  one  has  a  vision  of  a  headland  of  the  rocky  New 
England  coast.  Indeed,  the  aim  of  poet  and  of  narrator 
is  precisely  to  hold  words  to  the  function  of  suggesting  particu- 
lar scenes  and  emotions  and  to  prevent  their  use  as  representa- 
tive of  the  class  or  group.  Thus  the  potential  general  term 
may  remain  a  mere  verbal  image.  In  the  second  place,  a 
word  may  be  a  general  term  and  perform  its  function  of  sug- 
gesting similars  while  yet  it  corresponds  to  no  conception 
or  general  notion.  This  is  the  case  wherever  the  word-con- 
sciousness is  unaccompanied  by  an  awareness  of  generality. 
I  may  read  the  word  '  chest,'  for  instance,  and  it  may  suggest  to 
me  a  series  of  boxes  of  different  shapes  and  sizes,  and  yet  I 
may  not  be  conscious  of  any  generality.  In  this  case, 
though  the  spoken  or  written  word  'chest'  may  be  called  a 
'general  term,'  the  verbal  imagination  of  'chest'  is  not, 
according  to  our  doctrine,  a  conception. 

It  is  thus  evident  that  words  need  not  correspond  directly 
with  conceptions.  It  is  equally  important  to  realize  that 
conception  and,  indeed,  all  forms  of  thinking,  are  possible 
without  language."  It  is  true  that  most  of  us  think  in  words. 
We  find  it  difficult  or  impossible  to  carry  out  a  long  train  of 
reasoning  without  formulating  in  words  the  different  stages  of 
it ;  and  even  when  we  reason  silently,  we  are  likely  to  discover 
ourselves  imagining  sub  silentio  the  words  of  our  argument. 
In  conception,  also,  the  verbal  imagination  often  forms  the 
centre  of  our  experience ;  so  that,  for  instance,  the  conception 
'truth'  almost  always  includes  a  verbal  image.  Etymologists, 
indeed,  argue  that  the  absence  from  a  given  language  of  a 


Thought  and  Language  167 

particular  sort  of  words  or  signs  is  probably  indication  of  a 
lack  of  the  corresponding  conceptions.  Savages  unpossessed 
of  a  system  of  numerals  count  up  to  five  or  six  only,  and 
])crform  no  intricate  arithmetical  operations;  and  from  the 
j)aucity  of  color-terms  in  Homeric  Greek  it  is  argued,  not  un- 
reasonably (though  not  decisively),  that  the  Hellenes  of  this 
period  discriminated  few  colors.  But  all  this  simply  shows 
that  conventional  language  facilitates  and  establishes  thought, 
and  that  the  two  develop  by  a  sort  of  mutual  interrelation.  To 
insist,  as  Max  Muller  insists,  that  thought  is  impossible  with- 
out language,  is  to  overlook  the  outcome  of  much  introspec- 
tion and  to  misapprehend  the  nature  as  well  of  thought  as  of 
language.  Conventional  language  is,  as  has  been  said,  a 
system  of  signs,  composed  of  certain  images,  usually  auditory, 
motor,  or  visual.  Thinking,  on  the  other  hand,  necessarily 
includes  a  consciousness  of  impersonal  relations.  It  is  ab- 
surd to  assert  that  the  experience  of  objects  as  related  is  abso- 
lutely dependent  on  one's  possession  of  any  specific  set  of 
images,  , 

Certain  experiences  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  furnish  interest- 
ing testimony  on  exactly  this  point.  DT.strella,  an  educated 
deaf-mute,  has  given  a  detailed  account  of  his  moral  and 
theological  reasoning  in  the  very  early  years  of  his  neglected 
childhood.*  He  had  never  attended  school,  knew  nothing 
of  the  conventional  gesture-language,  and  i)ossessed,  in  fact, 
only  a  few  rude  signs,  none  of  them  standing  for  abstract 
ideas.  Yet,  during  this  time,  he  not  only  gained  a  belief  that 
the  moon  is  a  person,  —  a  conclusion  carefully  reasoned  from 
facts  of  the  moon's  motion  and  regular  appearance,  —  but,  by 
meditating  on  other  nature-facts,  he  found  for  himself  a  god, 
*  James,  Philosophical  Rei'iew,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  613  seq. 


1 68  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

a  Strong  Man  behind  the  hills,  who  threw  the  sun  up  into 
the  sky  as  bo)s  throw  fireballs,  who  puffed  the  clouds  from 
his  pipe,  and  who  showed  his  passion  by  sending  forth  the 
wind.  Mr.  Ballard,  another  deaf-mute,  describes  a  parallel 
experience,*  his  meditation  "  some  two  or  three  years  before 
.  .  .  initiation  into  the  rudiments  of  written  language,"  on 
"the  question,  How  came  the  world  into  being?"  Testimony 
of  this  sort,  though  of  course  it  may  be  criticised  as  in- 
volving the  memory  of  long-past  experiences,  confirms  the 
antecedent  probability  that  thinking  may  be  carried  on  in 
any  terms  —  concrete  as  well  as  verbal.  Whenever  one  is 
conscious  of  a  group,  or  of  a  member  of  a  group,  then 
one  is  conceiving.  The  conception  may  include  a  verbal 
image,  but  need  not.  Whenever  one  is  conscious  of  the 
wholeness  of  a  complex,  with  emphasized  part,  then  one  is 
judging.  The  judgment  often  includes  an  imaged  proposition, 
but  does  not  necessarily  contain  it.  Whenever,  finally,  one  is 
conscious  of  successive,  connected,  discriminated  wholes,  one 
reasons.  Reasoning,  to  be  sure,  more  often  than  conceiv- 
ing or  judging,  has  a  verbal  constituent,  yet  reasoning  also 
may  be  carried  on  without  words. 

Conversely,  the  use  of  the  general  term,  proposition,  or 
syllogism,  is  no  sure  indication  of  judging  or  reasoning. 
For  these  forms  of  word-series  have  become  so  habitual 
that  one  may  use  them  without  full  realization  of  their 
meaning.  For  example,  the  proposition,  "the  apple  is  yel- 
low," may  not  mean  more  to  the  man  who  speaks  it  than 
the  words  'yellow  apple,'  that  is  to  say,  no  judgment  at  aU,  no 
experience  of  differentiated  wholeness,  need  be  involved ;  and 
the  prepositional  form  of  the  words  may  be  a  mere  unconscious 

*  James,  "The  Principks  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  I.,  pp.  266  seq. 


Thought  luid  Language  169 

reflex,  due  to  habit.  Evidently,  therefore,  the  psychologist 
must  be  on  his  guard  against  the  false  supposition,  that  wher- 
ever proposition  or  syllogism  is,  there  also  is  judgment  or 
reasoning.  He,  of  all  men,  must  be  alive  to  the  possibility  that 
words  do  not  always  reveal,  or  even  conceal,  any  'thought 
within,'  but  that  they  may  be  used  without  any  meaning,  for 
mere  pleasure  in  their  lirjuid  syllables,  their  rotund  vowels, 
their  emotional  impressiveness. 


CHAPTER   XI 

EMOTION 

I.    The  Nature  of  Emotion 

a.   Emotion  as  Personal  Attitude 

The  I,  or  conscious  self,  as  so  far  described,  is  an  exclusively 
perceiving  and  imagining,  recognizing  and  thinking  self. 
But  nobody  merely  sees  and  hears,  thinks  and  imagines: 
rather,  every  self  also  loves  and  hates  and  enjoys  and  is 
disappointed.  We  shall  turn  now  to  the  study  of  this  affec- 
tively and  emotionally  conscious  self.  Emotion  is,  first  and 
foremost,  an  intensely  individualizing  experience.  In  loving 
and  fearing  I  am  conscious  of  myself  as  this  self  and  no  other ; 
and  I  am,  furthermore,  conscious  of  the  individual  and  unique 
nature  of  the  friend  whom  I  love  or  of  the  superior  whom  I 
fear.  In  more  technical  terms :  both  the  subject  and  the 
object  ^*  of  emotion  are  realized  as  unique  or  irreplaceable. 
In  this  doubly  individualizing  character,  emotion  is  distin- 
guished from  perception  and  from  all  forms  of  thought,  for 
in  these  I  lay  no  special  stress  on  myself,  as  just  this  indi- 
vidual, nor  do  I  regard  the  object  of  my  consciousness  as 
peculiarly  individual.  Rather,  I  realize,  reflectively  if  not 
immediately,  that  other  selves  see  and  hear  as  I  do,  and  I 
assume  that  any  other  self  must  think  as  I  do.     It  is  true  that, 

*  These  Aral)ic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  numbered 
divisions  (§§)  of  the  Appendix,  Section  XI. 

170 


Emotion  as  Personal  Attitude  171 

as  I  reUcct  on  my  life  of  imaginalion,  I  scorn  to  have  been  in  my 
imagining  a  peculiarly  isolated,  unique  self.  Yet  this  unicjue- 
ness  and  indi\i(luality  forms  no  inherent  part  of  the  imagining. 
In  my  emotion,  on  the  other  hand,  T  immediately  realize 
myself  as  a  unique  self;  I  imd  it  difficult  to  believe  that  there 
is  any  other  lover  or  hater  in  the  world,  that  then,  "s  any  grief 
save  my  grief:  in  a  word,  I  individualize  myself  .n  emotion. 
And  with  equal  emphasis  I  individualize  the  object  of  my 
love  or  hate  or  fear.  I  love  this  child;  I  hate  that  man;  I 
delight  in  this  sunlit  stretch  of  river.  I  do  not  love  children, 
and  hate  men  in  general,  and  enjoy  any  river  scene.  To  say 
that  I  love  any  such  class  or  group  is  either  mere  fiction  or 
else  it  is  a  metaphorical  way  of  saying  that  I  love  this  and  this 
and  this  child,  —  in  fact,  that  I  cannot  think  of  any  child 
whom  I  do  not  love;  that  1  hate  every  man  whom  I  know; 
and  that  I  delight  in  every  river  scene.  Herein,  again, 
emotion  is  distinguished  from  most  other  experiences.  The 
objects  of  perception  and  imagination,  it  is  true,  and  the 
objects  of  some  forms  of  thought,  are  reflectively  known  as 
particular,  —  I  say,  for  example,  that  1  perceive  this  house 
and  imagine  this  particular  scene,  —  but  such  consciousness 
of  the  object  as  jjarlicular  is  a  sort  of  after-exj)erience,  not 
at  all  an  immediate,  inherent  factor  in  perceiving  the  house 
and  in  imagining  the  scene,  whereas  it  is  the  very  core  of 
emotion  to  be  conscious  of  the  individual. 

In  a  second  character,  its  receptivcness,  emotion  evidently 
resembles  perception.  In  happiness  and  in  unhapjiiness  of 
every  sort  —  in  hope  and  in  fear,  in  enjoyment  and  in  dislike, 
in  envy  and  in  sympathy  —  I  am  conscious  of  being  alTected 
by  my  environment,  that  is,  b\-  the  selves  and  by  the  things  of 
which  I  am  conscious.     "  Mv  soul,"  as  Coleridge  savs,  lies 


172  A    First  Book  in  Psychology 

"passive,  driven  as  in  surges."  All  emotion  includes  this 
awareness  of  being  influenced  or  affected  —  in  a  word,  emo- 
tion is  a  receptive,  or  passive,  experience.  This  character 
of  emotion  is  often  overlooked,  partly  because  emotion  is 
normally  preceded  or  accompanied  by  very  obvious  bodily 
movements  and  partly  because  it  is  so  often  followed  by  the 
assertive,  or  active,  conscious  relations,  will  and  faith.  In 
the  later  study  of  these  two  other  individualizing,  yet  assert- 
ive, experiences  the  inherent  receptiveness  of  emotion  will 
become  more  apparent.* 

b.   Emotion  as  Affective  Consciousness 

The  Affective  Elements 

As  so  far  studied,  emotion  is,  thus,  an  evidently  complex, 
receptive,  doubly  individualizing  experience  with  either 
personal  or  impersonal  object.  Emotion  as  complex  or  in- 
clusive experience  has  now  to  be  regarded  from  another  point 
of  view.  Perception,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  an  experience, 
(i)  immediately  realized  as  receptive  consciousness  of  exter- 
nalized and  impersonal  object,  and  (2)  reflectively  realized 
as  shared  with  other  selves;  it  is  also  (3)  a  sensational 
experience.  The  description  of  perception  as  sensational  is 
gained  by  analyzing  perception,  without  explicit  reference  to 
the  perceiving  self,  into  irreducible  elements,  —  of  color, 
quality,  pitch,  loudness,  —  each  belonging  to  a  definite 
time.  Such  an  analysis,  which  is  called  'structural,'  must 
now  be  undertaken  of  emotion.  We  must  know  whether 
love  and  fear  and  envy  and  the  rest  reduce  also  to 
sensational  elements,  —  say,    of    warmth    and    of   pressure 

*  Cf.  Chapters  XII.,  XIII. 


Emotion  as  Affective  Consciousness  173 

due  to  hcarl-bcat,  —  or  whether  they  inchide  other  ele- 
ments of  consciousness.  When  we  j)Ul  the  fjuestion  in  this 
way,  there  is  h"ttle  doubt  about  the  answer.  An  emotion  is 
characterized,  always,  as  ])leasant  or  unpleasant  (or  both) : 
for  example,  liking  is  pleasant  and  terror  is  unpleasant;  and 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  clearly  elemental  feelings. 
One  can  no  more  tell  what  one  means  by  agrecableness  or  by 
disagreeableness  than  one  can  tell  what  redness  and  warmth 
and  acidity  are:  in  other  words,  these  arc  distinct  and  irre- 
ducible experiences. 

From  the  class  of  sense-elements  affections  are,  however, 
plainly  differentiated.  Unlike  sensational  elements,  they  are 
not  always  present  in  consciousness,  and  cannot  conceiv- 
ably occur  by  themselves  without  belonging,  as  it  were, 
to  other  experiences.  The  fact  that  we  are  not  always 
conscious  of  either  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  is  ordi- 
narily expressed  by  saying  that  much  of  our  every-day  ex- 
perience is  'indifferent'  to  us.  The  other  characteristic  is 
clearly  shown  by  the  reflection  that  we  are  conscious,  not  of 
agrecableness  or  disagreeableness  by  itself,  but  always  of  an 
agreeable  or  disagreeable  somewhat,  of  a  pleasant  familiarity, 
for  example,  or  of  an  unpleasant  taste.  These  distinctions,  of 
course,  are  not  immediate  constituents  of  either  pleasantness 
or  unpleasantness,  that  is  to  say,  when  one  is  conscious  of 
pleasure  one  does  not  necessarily  say  to  oneself,  "this  exjx'ri- 
ence  might  have  been  perfectly  indifferent,  and  the  pleasant- 
ness of  it  belongs  to  its  color  consciousness."  On  the 
contrary,  these  are  only  possible  after-reflections  about  the 
agreeableness  or  disagreeableness.  The  fact  that  the  affec- 
tions are  not  always  present  in  consciousness,  and  that  they 
seem,  as   has  been  said,  lo  'belong  to'  other  experience  of 


iy4  ^   First  Book  in  Psychology 

any  order,*  may  be  indicated  by  calling  them  'altributive' 
clemenls  of  consciousness.! 

Some  psychologists  maintain  that  besides  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness  there  are  four  other  affective  elements 
of  consciousness  (or  'feelings');  namely,  excitement  and 
tranquillity,  tension,  and  relief.^  On  this  theory,  there  would 
be  six  affective  elements  of  three  sorts,  opposed  to  each  other 
two  by  two.  In  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  this  book,  this  is 
a  mistaken  view;  and  for  the  following  reasons.  In  the  first 
place,  though  emotions  are  rightly  characterized  as  exciting  or 
tranquillizing,  'excitement'  and  'tranquillization'  are  complex 
rather  than  elemental  experiences,  fusions  of  temporal-rela- 
tional with  organic-sensational  consciousness.  'Tension,'  in 
turn,  seems  to  be  nothing  more  nor  less  than  attention;  and 
attention,  though  classified  as  attributive  element,  and  so 
coordinate  with  the  class  of  affections,  is  not  an  affection, 
'Relief,'  finally,  seems  to  mean  little  more  than  absence  from 
tension.  We  shall,  therefore,  abide  by  the  traditional  view 
that  the  elemental  experiences  peculiar  to  emotion  are  the 
two:  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness. 

Emotions  are  characterized  also  —  and  that  by  common 
admission  —  by  the  organic  sensations  which  they  include. 
Most  conscious  experiences  contain,  of  course,  the  vague  aware- 
ness of  bodily  processes;  but  in  emotion  these  organic  sensa- 
tions are  peculiarly  prominent.  The  experiences  of  quickened 
heart -beat,  of  faintness  or  of  dizziness,  of  growing  warmth  or 
of  creeping  chill,  are  factors  of  most  emotional  experiences. 

*  By  the  words  '  of  any  order '  the  attributive  elements  are  distinguished 
from  extensity,  which,  even  if  not  always  present,  attaches  only  to  sensational 
elements. 

t  Cf .  Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  34. 


The  Forms  of  Emotion  175 

Tlic  mention  of  tlu'se  experiences  clue  to  internal  bodil}- 
changes  suggests  the  problem  of  the  physiological  explana- 
tion of  emotion.  It  will  be  convenient,  however,  to  postpone 
this  discussion  to  the  fourth  section  of  this  chapter  and  to 
turn  at  once  to  a  more  detailed  psychological  analysis  of 
emotions. 

II.   The  Forms  of  Emotion 

In  the  effort  to  be  true  to  the  distinctions  of  actual  experi- 
ence, we  shall  find  that  emotions  are  commonly  grouped 
according  to  the  varying  relations  of  different  selves  to  each 
other  and  on  the  basis  of  the  contrast  between  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness.  Our  study  of  emotional  experiences 
will  start  from  the  following  outline  of  the  basal  emotions :  ^  — 

PERSONAL   EMOTIONS 

I.   Egoistic,  Unsympathetic  Emotions 
a.  With  other  self  as  object:  — 

1  Happy  (that  is,  pleasant)  emotions:  — 

{a)  Without  valuation  of  other  self:  — 

Happiness,  realized  as  due  to  other  self,  Liking 

(6)  With  valuation :  — 

Happiness,  realized  as  due  to  other  self, 

Who  is, 
(i)  Stronger  than  oneself.  Reverence 

(2)  Equal  to  oneself,  Love(?),  Friendship(?) 

(3)  Weaker  than  oneself,  Tenderness(  ?) 

2  Unhappy  (that  is,  unpleasant)  emotions:  — 

(a)  Without  valuation:  — 

Unhappiness,  realized  as  due  to  other  self,  Dislike 

(6)  With  valuation  :  — 

Unhappiness,  realized  as  due  to  others, 

WIio  are 
(i)  Stronger  than  oneself.  Terror 

(2)  Equal  to  oneself.  Hate 

(3)  Weaker  than  oneself.  Scorn 


176  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

b.  With  myself  as  valued  object:  — 

1  As  valued  by  myself, 

(a)  Happiness  in  myself,  regarded  as  worthy,  Pride 

(b)  Unhappiness  in  myself,  regarded  as  unworthy,  Humility 

2  As  valued  by  others, 

(a)  Happiness  in  being  admired.  Vanity 

(6)  Unhappiness  in  being  scorned,  Shame 

II.  Altruistic,  or  Sympathetic,  Emotions 

a.  Homogeneous:  — 

1  Happiness  through  shared  happiness,  Mitfreiide 

2  Unhappiness  through  shared  unhappiness,  Pity 

b.  Heterogeneous,  or  mixed :  — 

1  Happiness  through  another's  unhappiness,  Malice 

2  Unhappiness  through  another's  happiness.  Envy 

IMPERSONAL  EMOTIONS 

I.   Egoistic 

Like 
Dislike 
Ennui 
Enjoyment  of  the  familiar, 
etc. 
II.  Altruistic  (absorbing) :  — 

a  Sensational,  ^Esthetic  pleasure 

b  Relational,  Logical  pleasure 

Sense  of  humor, 
etc. 

The  fact  must  be  emphasized  that  this  outh'ne  makes  no 
pretence  of  including  all  forms  of  emotion.  Two  omitted 
distinctions  should  specially  be  named :  that  between  certain 
emotions  according  as  their  objects  are  past  or  future;  and 
the  distinction,  already  mentioned,  between  exciting  and  de- 
pressing emotions.  From  tht  former  point  of  view,  anxiety 
is  distinguished  from  disappointment  as  having  a  future,  not 
a  past,  object ;  and  from  the  latter,  hatred  is  different  from 


a  Sensational, 
b  Relational, 


Tlic  Forms  of  Emotion  177 

extreme  terror  in  that  it  is  exciting  and  not  depressing.  All 
these  distinctions  might  be  added  to  the  table  of  emotions, 
but  at  the  risk  of  complicating  it  too  greatly. 

a.    Personal  Emotion 

We  have  first  to  study  the  most  primitive  and  most  signifi- 
cant of  the  forms  of  emotion  —  i)ersonal  emotion.  It  apjjears 
in  the  two  well-marked  phases  which  underlie  all  personal 
relation,  as  egoistic  or  as  altruistic,  that  is,  as  laying  stress  on 
myself  or  on  other  self.  W'c  must,  however,  guard  against 
the  error  of  describing  egoistic  emotion  as  if  it  included  no 
awareness  of  other  self  or  selves.  If  this  were  true,  there 
would  be  no  personal  emotion  at  all,  for  that  demands  the 
relation  to  a  particular  other  self,  and  exists  only  in  so  far  as 
it  emphasizes  and  individuates  the  other  self  or  other  selves. 
Like  and  dislike,  fear  and  gratitude,  and  all  the  rest,  are  ob- 
viously expressions  of  one's  attitude  to  other  selves,  but 
these '  others '  are  not  realized  as  themselves  caring  and  hating 
and  fearing,  but  only  as  the  conscious,  yet  unfeeling,  targets  or 
instruments  to  one's  own  emotions. 

It  follows  from  this  distinction  that  many  kindly,  good- 
natured  feelings  are  rightly  classed  as  unsympathetic.  Mere 
liking,  for  example,  is  as  unsympathetic  and  egoistic  an 
experience  as  dislike.  By  this  particular  self  one  is 
pleasantly  affected;  by  this  other,  unpleasantly.  But  the 
pleasure  is  as  distinctly  individual  and  unshared  as  the  dis- 
satisfaction. The  other  selves  are  means  to  one's  content  or 
discontent,  and  are  thought  of  a^  subordinated  to  one's  own 
interests. 

We  have,  therefore,  two  distinct  types  of  unsympathetic 
emotion.     On  the  one  hand,  there  is  the  moroseness,  the 

N 


178  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

discontent,  the  hostile  fear  or  hate  or  contempt,  of  the  man 
who  reah"zes  himself  as  unfavorably  related  to  other  selves. 
Quite  as  significant,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  unruffled 
good  nature,  the  sunshiny  content,  the  unaffected  liking,  or 
even  gratitude,  of  the  individual  who  feels  that  he  is  happy 
in  his  relations  with  other  selves.  The  common  temptation 
is,  of  course,  to  give  to  these  genial  feelings  an  ethical  value, 
and  to  contrast  dislike,  as  selfishness,  with  liking,  as  if  that 
were  unselfish.  The  truth  is,  however,  that  the  one  attitude 
is  as  'egoistic'  as  the  other.  To  like  people  is  to  realize  them 
as  significant  to  one's  own  happiness,  not  to  identify  oneself 
with  their  happiness.  And,  in  truth,  a  great  part  of  what  is 
known  as  'love'  of  family  or  of  country  is  of  this  strictly 
egoistic  nature.  Dombey  loved  his  son  because  the  boy  was 
'  important  as  a  part  of  his  own  greatness' ;  and  many  a  man 
loves  family,  church,  or  country  merely  as  the  embodiment 
of  his  own  particular  interests  and  purposes. 

It  is  even  possible  to  secure  other  people's  pleasure  and  to 
avoid  paining  them,  not  in  the  least  to  gain  their  happiness, 
but  because  their  cries  of  grief  assault  our  ears  as  their 
happy  laughter  delights  us.  The  most  consummately  heart- 
less figure  of  modern  literature,  Tito  Melema,  is  so  tender- 
hearted that  he  turns  his  steps  lest  he  crush  an  insect  on 
the  ground,  and  devotes  a  long  afternoon  to  calming  a  little 
peasant's  grief.  "The  softness  of  his  nature,"  we  are  told, 
"  required  that  all  sorrow  should  be  hidden  away  from  him." 
But  this  same  Tito  Melema  betrays  wife  and  foster-father 
and  country,  in  the  interests  of  his  own  self-indulgence  :  other 
people's  emotions  are  insignificant  to  him  in  themselves;  he 
regards  them  only  as  the  expression  of  them  rouses  him  to 
delight  or  to  sorrow;    he  never  for  an  instant  enters  into 


Personal  Emotion  I'jc) 

them,    identifies    himself    with    them,   or  makes   them   his 
own. 

The  avoidance  of  another's  pain  does,  it  must  be  added, 
require  what  is  sometimes  called  sympathy,  the  involuntary 
tendency  to  share  the  organic  sensational  consciousness  of 
other  people.  The  pain  which  one  feels  at  the  sight  of  some- 
body's wound  is  an  illustration  of  this  experience,  known  as 
'  organic  sympathy.'  We  are,  however,  here  concerned  with 
emotion  not  with  sensation. 

Besides  this  fundamental  difference  between  the  personal 
emotions,  liking  and  reverence  and  love,  which  involve  pleas- 
antness, and  the  opposite  ones,  dislike,  terror,  and  hate,  which 
are  unpleasant  experiences,  we  must  take  account  also  of 
another  difference,  which  marks  off  the  simpler  from  the 
more  complex  form  of  these  feelings.  In  all  these  experi- 
ences, our  happiness  or  unhappiness  is  referred,  as  we  have 
seen,  to  other  selves,  and  is  realized  as  connected  with  them. 
When  the  consciousness  of  this  relation  becomes  explicit, 
that  is,  when  other  people  are  clearly  and  definitely  realized 
as  aftecting  us  and  as  sources  of  our  happiness  or  unhappi- 
ness, then  those  vaguer  personal  feelings  of  like  and  dislike 
give  w^ay  to  emotions  in  which  the  realization  of  others  is 
more  sharp-cut  and  more  exactly  defmed.  Closely  regarded, 
the  distinctions  among  these  complex  emotions  arc  found  to 
be  based  on  the  estimate  which  is  formed  of  those  'other 
selves'  who  are  means  to  one's  happiness  or  unhappiness. 
When  these  other  selves  are  realized  as  greater,  stronger, 
than  oneself,  the  resulting  emotions  are  reverence  and  terror; 
wdicn  they  are  conceived  as  on  an  equality  with  oneself,  the 
emotions  are  love  and  hate;  w^hen  they  appear,  finally,  as 
weaker  or  inferior,  the  feelings  are  scorn  and  tenderness. 


I  So  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

It  is  not  diflicult  to  illustrate  these  abstractly  worded 
definitions.  Reverence,  the  individualizing,  receptive,  happy 
consciousness  of  a  greater  self,  is  the  emotional  attitude  of 
child  to  father,  of  soldier  to  commander,  of  worshipper  to 
God.  It  is  the  emotion  thrilling  through  the  lines  of  Cole- 
ridge to  Wordsworth,  "  friend  of  the  wise  and  teacher  of  the 
good,"  and  culminating  in  the  last  verses :  — 

"...  Friend!  my  comforter  and  guide! 
Strong  in  thyself  and  powerful  to  give  strength!" 

For  the  parallel  emotion  toward  a  self  conceived  neither  as 
greater  nor ,  as  weaker  than  oneself,  there  is  no  precise 
name.  The  terms  'love'  and  'friendship'  are  employed  in 
this  chapter;  but  to  this  usage  it  may  well  be  objected 
that  these  are  no  mere  emotions,  but  that,  in  their 
complete  form,  love  and  friendship  include  the  active  atti- 
tudes of  loyalty  and  trust.  But,  named  or  unnamed,  there 
is  surely  a  happy  emotion  which  obliterates  distinctions 
of  greater  and  weaker.  To  paraphrase  Aristotle :  love  is  the 
character  of  friendship,  and  by  love  friends,  however  out- 
wardly unequal,  "make  themselves  equal."  The  word 
'tenderness'  even  more  inadequately  expresses  the  happy 
emotion  centred  in  some  one  weaker  than  oneself.  It  is  the 
feeling  of  the  mother  for  her  child,  of  the  master  for  the 
cherished  pupil,  of  every  lover  for  the  beloved  one  who  is  weak 
or  afraid.  It  is  the  feeling  which  stirred  the  heart  of  Alkestis 
for  Admetos,  the  emotion  which  Sokrates  felt  when  he  played, 
in  that  "way  which  he  had,"  with  the  hair  of  Phaidon,  as 
he  said,  "To-morrow,  I  suppose,  these  fair  locks  will  be 
severed." 

To  turn  to  the  unhappy  emotions :    every  revolt  from  tyr- 


Personal  Emotion  i8i 

anny  and  oppression  is  a  lix-ini;  illustration  of  the  contrast 
between  terror  or  fear  and  haired.  Why  did  the  French 
peasantry,  who  endured  the  burdens  of  Louis  Qualorze,  rebel 
against  the  materially  lessened  impositions  of  Louis  Seize? 
What  is  the  nature  of  the  emotional  contrast  between  the  two 
generations,  only  a  century  apart :  in  the  earlier  period,  hap- 
less suffering  from  disease,  starvation,  and  exaction  of  every 
sort,  without  the  stirring  of  opposition ;  a  hundred  years  later, 
fierce  and  furious  resentment  against  oppression  and  misery? 
There  is  only  one  answer  to  questions  such  as  these.  The 
peasants  of  the  older  period  were  still  bound  by  the  traditional 
belief  that  court  and  nobles  were  naturally  above  them,  lof- 
tier and  more  i)owerful  than  they.  Their  feeling  to  these 
superior  beings,  realized  as  instruments  to  their  own  undoing, 
was  of  necessity,  therefore,  the  paralyzing  emotion  of  terror; 
but  the  feeling,  though  intense,  remained  impotent  and 
futile,  and  led  to  no  effective  reaction  so  long  as  the  nobles 
held,  in  the  minds  of  these  peasants,  their  position  of  lofty 
isolation.  The  French  Revolution  was,  in  fact,  directly  due 
to  the  spread  of  the  doctrine  of  social  equality.  Rousseau's 
teaching  of  the  essential  likeness  of  man  to  man,  once  it  took 
root  in  the  mind  of  the  French  people,  grew  of  necessity  into 
the  conviction  that  peasants  and  nobles  were  no  longer 
separated  by  an  impassable  barrier.  And  with  this  convic- 
tion of  their  equality,  the  unnerving  emotion  of  terror  gave 
way  to  hate  with  its  outcome  of  fury  and  rebellion.  So  in 
England,  four  centuries  earlier,  the  peasants  rebelled  under 
Wat  Tyler  not  through  mere  discontent  with  industrial  con- 
ditions but  because  the  levelling  emotion  of  hate  had  been 
excited  by  the  teaching  of  the  Lollard  priests  and  of  John 
Ball.     The  men  of  Kent  and  of  Essex,  persuaded  of  the 


1 82  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

essential  equality  of  serf  with  master  and  of  villein  with 
landlord,  no  longer  feared  but  hated  the  lords  of  the  manor 
against  whom  they  rose. 

Apparent  exceptions  are  really  illustrations  of  this  prin- 
ciple, for  the  outburst  of  fury  against  one's  superior  always 
turns  out  to  be  due  to  a  momentary  denial  of  his  superiority, 
a  temporary  tearing  of  the  god  from  its  pedestal.  The  fear 
of  the  superior  beings  readily,  however,  reasserts  itself,  and 
this  explains  the  temporary  nature  of  many  revolts  and  the 
easy  resumption  of  authority.  A  handful  of  soldiers  may 
check  the  violence  of  a  mob,  because  t-he  vision  of  brass 
buttons  and  uniforms  inspires  an  unreasoning  conviction  of 
the  superiority  of  military  force,  and  transforms  hate  and 
rage  into  futile  fear.  The  insubordinate  fury  of  usually 
obedient  children  is  like  mob-violence,  a  temporary  assertion 
of  equality  with  their  old-time  superiors ;  and  like  mob-fury, 
the  anger  of  children  readily  gives  way  to  the  old  acceptance 
of  authority. 

The  emotion  of  scorn,  finally,  involves  the  conviction  of 
another's  inferiority.  It  is  evidently  impossible  to  despise 
a  man,  so  long  as  one  regards  him  as  one's  own  superior,  or 
even  as  one's  equal.  Contempt  is,  thus,  the  dissatisfaction 
involved  in  one's  relation  to  an  inferior  person.  The  infe- 
riority may  be  real  or  imagined,  and  of  any  sort ;  but  just 
as  reverence  or  respect  may  be  regarded  as  a  virtue,  so  con- 
tempt is  readily  considered  from  the  ethical  standpoint,  and 
it  is  rightly  rated  as  morally  unworthy  if  it  takes  account  of 
the  superficial  inferiority  of  fortune  or  of  station. 

These  emotions  have  other  selves  as  emphasized  object.  In 
contrast  to  them  are  emotions  whose  chief  object  is  myself. 
'"Tis  evident,"  Hume  says,  "  that  pride  and  humility  have 


Personal  Emotion  183 

the  same  object  .  .  .  self,  of  which  we  have  an  intimate 
memory  and  consciousness.  According  as  our  idea  of  our- 
self  is  more  or  less  advantageous,  we  .  .  .  are  elated  by 
l)ride  or  dejected  by  humility.  .  .  .  Every  valuable  quality 
of  the  mind,"  Hume  continues,  "...  wit,  good  sense, 
learning,  courage,  integrity;  all  these  are  the  causes  of  j)ride, 
and  their  opposites  of  humility.  Nor  are  these  passions  con- 
fm'd  to  the  mind.  ...  A  man  may  be  proud  of  his  agility, 
good  mien,  address  in  dancing,  riding,  fencing.  .  .  .  This 
is  not  all.  The  passion,  looking  farther,  comprehends  what- 
ever objects  are  in  the  least  ally'd  or  related  to  us.  Our 
country,  family,  children,  relations,  riches,  houses,  gardens, 
horses,  dogs,  cloaths ;  any  of  these  may  become  a  cause  either 
of  pride  or  of  humility."  *  Spino/a  sums  up  this  conception 
in  fewer  words:  Pride,  or  self-ajjproval  (acquiesccntia),  is,  he 
says,  "joy  arising  from  the  fact  that  a  man  contemplates 
himself  and  his  power  to  act,"  whereas  "humility  is  sadness 
arising  from  this,  that  a  man  contemplates  his  own  i)ower- 
lessness."  f 

Besides  this  obvious  distinction  between  the  hapj)iness  of 
self-content  and  the  unhappiness  of  self-depreciation,  there 
is  a  difference  between  emotions  in  which  the  core  of  my 
happiness  or  unhapj^iness  is  my  relatively  independent  valu- 
ation of  myself  and  those  in  which  my  elation  and  dejec- 
tion consist  j)rimarily  in  my  consciousness  of  others'  estima- 
tion of  me.  From  this  point  of  view,  we  may  distinguish 
pride,  as  "  isolated  self-esteem"  in  which  "the  mind  stops  at 
home,  turns  in  ujion  itself,  and  sits  before  the  glass  in  pleased 
admiration,"  from  vanity,  the  "de[)endenl  and  sympathetic 
type   of  self-esteem,"    which    is    "uneasy  till   conrirmed   by 

*  "A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,"  Book  II.,  Part  I.,  §  2.      t  "  I'.lhii  s,"  Pt.  III. 


184  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

other  voices;  unable  to  refrain  from  inviting  applause."* 
And,  similarly,  we  may  contrast  humility  with  shame,  the 
shrinking  consciousness  of  the  loathing  of  one's  fellows. 
Spinoza  names  these  emotions  'glory'  and  'shame.'  They 
arise,  he  says  simply,  "when  a  man  believes  himself  to  be 
praised  or  blamed." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  insist  on  just  these  meanings  for  the 
words  pride  and  vanity,  humility  and  shame.  'Vanity,'  for 
example,  is  often  limited  in  application  to  baseless  and  empty 
self-conceit ;  and  '  humility'  may  be  used  of  a  tranquil  realiza- 
tion, untouched  by  sadness,  of  one's  low  estate.  But  what- 
ever names  be  chosen  to  express  the  distinctions,  it  is  im- 
portant to  the  analyst  of  human  emotions  to  recognize  the 
experiences  to  which  these  terms  are  here  applied.  Aristotle's 
great-souled  man  who,  "being  worthy  of  great  things,  rates 
himself  highly,"  is  proud,  not  vain.  His  supreme  content 
is  rooted  in  self-satisfaction,  and  he  disregards,  if  he  does 
not  scorn,  the  approval  of  other  people.  Malvolio,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  vain:  he  delights  in  his  appearance  precisely 
because  he  believes  himself  to  be  the  observed  of  all  observers. 
The  despairing  self-contempt  of  Philip  Nolan,  "the  Man 
without  a  Country,"  is  so  deep  that  he  has  no  thought  for 
the  estimate  of  his  companions;  but  Sigismond's  shame  is 
his  consciousness  of  the  scorn  of  the  Bohemians  who  have 
heard  the  stinging  reproach  of  John  Hus:  I  came  here 
trusting  in  the  word  of  an  emperor.  It  is  probable,  indeed, 
that  the  social  forms  of  these  emotions  are  original  and 
primitive;  and  it  may  even  be  that  pride  and  humility  are 
never  utterly  self-sufhcient ;  and  that,  in  one's  seemingly 
isolated  approval  or  contempt  of  self,  one  is,  after  all,  judg- 

*  James  Martineau,  "Types  of  Ethical  Theory,"  Vol.  II.,  pp.  237-238. 


Personal  Enwiion  185 

ing  oneself  by  Ihc  sutndanl  of  tlie  ideal  spectator  or  by  that 
of  society. 

The  experiences  which  we  have  so  far  described  have  all 
been  characterized  by  their  egoistic  narrowing  of  conscious- 
ness, by  their  heavy  emphasis  on  one's  own  concerns  and 
interests,  by  their  incurable  tendency  to  regard  other  selves 
merely  as  ministers  to  one's  own  individual  satisfactions  and 
dissatisfactions.  The  sympathetic  emotions  arc  manifesta- 
tions of  the  altruistic  phase  of  self-consciousness,  the  widen- 
ing embrace  of  other  people's  interests,  the  sharing  of  other 
people's  hai)piness  and  unhappiness.  In  one's  sympathetic 
relations  witli  other  jjeople,  one  regards  them  as  possessing 
a  significance  of  their  own,  quite  aside  from  their  relations 
of  advantage  or  disadvantage  to  oneself,  and  one  shares 
these  new  interests  and  ideals  in  such  wise  as  to  enlarge  the 
boundaries  of  one's  own  experience. 

Emotions  of  personal  sympathy  are  of  two  main  types: 
I  am  happy  in  another's  happiness  or  unhappy  in  his 
grief.  There  is  no  English  word  to  express  the  sharing  of 
joy,  and  we  are  forced  to  borrow  from  the  Germans  their 
e.xact  and  j)erfect  word,  Mitfreude.  The  poverty  of  the 
English  language  expresses,  unhappily,  a  defect  in  human 
nature.  I  certainly  am  quicker  to  sympathize  with 
people's  sorrow  than  to  delight  in  their  happiness.  It  is 
easier  to  weep  to  my  friends'  mourning  than  to  dance  to 
their  piping,  easier  to  share  their  griefs  than  to  share  their 
amusements,  infiritely  easier  to  console  them  than  to  make 
holiday  with  them. 

The  greatest  distinction  in  these  simple  feelings  of  sym- 
pathy is  in  the  narrowness  or  the  widcness  of  them.  There 
may  be  but  one  individual  whose  experience  I  actually  share, 


1 86  A    First  Book  in  Psychology 

whose  joys  and  sorrows  1  feci  as  mine.  In  the  presence  of 
this  one  other  self  my  strictly  individual  happiness  is  disre- 
garded, and  the  boundaries  of  my  self-consciousness  arc 
enlarged.  I  live  no  longer  my  own  life,  but  this  other  life  — 
or  rather,  my  own  life  includes  this  other  life.  Yet  my 
relations  to  all  others  save  this  cherished  one  may  remain 
narrowly  egoistic:  I  may  still  be  concerned  only  for  myself, 
and  interested  in  these  others  only  as  foils  to  my  emotions. 
Life  and  literature  abound  in  examples  of  sympathy  within 
the  narrowest  limits,  of  egoistic  emotion  giving  way  at  one 
point  only.  Aaron  Latta  is  a  modern  illustration  of  this 
attitude:  he  lives  his  self-centred  life  undisturbed  by  the 
wants,  the  hopes,  the  cares,  of  the  village  life  about  him,  but 
he  is  quick  to  notice  the  shade  on  Elspeth's  brow  and  the 
merest  quiver  on  her  lip.  With  a  true  intuition,  indeed, 
the  novelists  and  the  dramatists  have  united  to  represent  the 
most  unsympathetic  of  mortals  as  vulnerable  at  some  point. 
Dickens,  the  keen  student  of  the  emotions,  has  only  one 
Scrooge,  'quite  alone  in  the  world  .  .  .  warning  all  human 
sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,'  and  represents  even  the 
Squeerses  as  possessed  of  'common  sympathies'  with  their 
own  children. 

Closely  following  upon  the  narrowest  form  of  sympathy, 
which  recognizes  the  claims  and  adopts  the  interests  of  one 
individual  only,  are  family-feeling,  club-feeling,  college-feel- 
ing, church-affiliation,  and  all  the  other  sympathies  with 
widening  groups  of  people.  For  sympathy  is  normally  of 
slow  growth.  The  more  primitive  emotions  are  naturally 
self-centred,  and  they  give  place  only  gradually  to  the  iden- 
tification of  oneself,  first  with  the  joys  and  griefs  of  one's 
mother  or  nurse  or  most  intimate  playmate,  then  with  the 


Personal  Emotion  187 

emotional  experiences  of  Ihe  whole  famil_\-  j^rouj),  later  with 
the  hopes  and  fears  and  regrets  and  deh'ghts  of  a  larger 
circle.  It  is  interesting  lo  observe  that,  with  every  widening 
of  one's  sympathy,  the  limiting  circumference  of  one's  own 
self  is  pushed  farther  outward.  The  sympathetic  man  has 
always  a  richer,  concreter  personality  than  the  self-centred 
man.  He  has  actually  shared  in  experiences  that  are  not  im- 
mediately hi^  own;  he  has  seen  with  others'  eyes  and  heard 
with  their  cars,  and  his  pulses  have  beat  high  to  their  hopes 
and  joys ;  his  experience  has  been  enlarged  by  his  symj)athies. 

There  is  something  abnormal,  therefore,  in  the  checking 
at  any  point  of  this  outgrowth  of  symj)athy.  People  whose 
sympathies  embrace  only  the  members  of  their  family,  their 
cult,  or  their  class,  arc  only  incompletely  human,  for  a  lack 
of  emotional  comprehension,  or  sympathy,  marks  a  stunted 
personality.  Even  patriotism,  so  far  as  it  limits  sym})athy 
to  feeling  with  the  inhabitants  of  any  one  corner  of  the  globe, 
deprives  a  man  of  his  birthright :  communion  in  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  life  with  'all  nations  of  men,'  or  rather,  with 
that  which  Tolstoi  calls  'the  one  nation.' 

We  have,  imally,  to  consider  heterogeneous  sympathetic 
emotions:  happiness  through  realization  of  another's  un- 
happiness,  that  is,  malice,  and  unhappiness  through  con- 
sciousness of  another's  happiness,  that  is,  envy.  By  common 
consent,  these  are  morally  undesirable  emotions,  yet  there 
can  be  no  question  that  they  are  sympathetic,  as  well  as 
egoistic,  that  is,  that  they  require  a  genuine  sharing  of  an- 
other's experience.  I  cannot  envy  you,  if  I  am  so  deeply 
occupied  with  my  own  emotions  that  I  do  not  realize  you  as 
happy.  And  I  cannot  really  know  that  you  are  happy  with- 
out, in  some  degree,  experiencing  or  sharing  }our  haj^piness. 


1 88  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

This,  to  be  sure,  is  often  denied :  I  am  said  to  possess  the 
idea  of  an  emotion  without  experiencing  the  emotion  itself. 
But,  surely,  to  be  conscious  of  emotion  means  nothing  if  it 
does  not  mean  to  have  the  emotion.  I  may,  of  course,  have 
the  purely  verbal  images,  'happy,'  'unhappy,'  'emotion', 
without  any  affective  consciousness  and  without  any  realiza- 
tion of  myself  in  relation  to  others;  but  nobody's  emotion 
can  influence  my  own  without  my  experiencing  or  sharing 
it  to  some  degree.  The  resulting  relations  to  other  selves 
are,  therefore,  heterogeneous  sympathetic,  or  mixed,  emotions. 
Not  only  do  they  combine  happiness  and  unhappiness,  but 
they  supplement  a  sympathetic  by  an  egoistic  emotion:  the 
happiness  which  we  faintly  share  with  another,  in  our  envy, 
is  swamped  in  the  egoistic  unhappiness  which  it  arouses, 
and  the  unhappiness  of  our  fellow,  dimly  felt  in  our  mali- 
ciousness, is  swallowed  up  in  a  surging  happiness  that  is 
quite  our  own. 

It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that  malice 
and  envy  exhaust  the  nature  of  this  emotional  experience. 
Barrie  has  shown  us  a  perfect  embodiment  of  mixed  emotion 
in  the  figure  of  Sentimental  Tommy.  Never  was  anybody 
more  sympathetic  than  Tommy,  boy  and  man.  He  entered 
into  the  feeling  of  friend  and  of  foe  alike :  divined  and  shared 
in  Elspeth's  loneliness,  Aaron's  bitterness,  Grizel's  passion 
and  scorn,  and  Corp's  loyalty.  He  never  could  have  been 
what  he  was  to  all  of  them,  had  he  not,  up  to  a  certain  point, 
shared  actually  in  their  feelings;  had  he  not  believed  in 
himself  as  Elspeth  and  Corp  believed  in  him,  hated  himself 
as  Aaron  hated  him,  alternately  loved  and  despised  himself 
as  Grizel  loved  and  despised  him.  And  yet  all  this  sym- 
pathetic communion  with  others  was  merely  a  stimulus  to 


TIk  Forms  of  Emotion  189 

his  own  private  emotions,  a  ministry  to  the  kixury  of  his  self- 
occupation,  whether  deh'cious  pleasure  or  equally  delicious 
misery.  Such  sympathy,  as  element  of  one's  egoistic  and  un- 
shared hapj)iness  or  unhai)pincss,  is  that  which  is  here  called 
heterogeneous  sympathetic  emotion. 

h.    Impersonal  Emotion 

This  chapter  has  so  far  been  concerned  with  personal 
emotion,  the  conscious  relation  of  happy  or  unhappy  self 
with  other  selves.  But  one  may  like  or  dislike  the  furnish- 
ings of  a  room  as  cordially  as  one  likes  or  dislikes  its  in- 
mates, and  one  may  be  as  desperately  frightened  by  a 
loaded  gun  as  by  a  tyrannical  master.  This  means  that 
emotion,  though  primarily  a  realized  relation  of  oneself 
to  other  selves,  may  be  also  a  relation  of  oneself  to  imper- 
sonal objects. 

Some  emotions,  to  be  sure,  are  necessarily  personal. 
Every  form  of  sympathy  presupposes  our  realization  of 
other  selves,  and  reverence,  like  contempt,  is  felt  toward 
selves  and  not  toward  things.  Hate,  also,  is  a  i)crsonal 
emotion  —  since,  although  we  often  feel  a  certain  irritation, 
more  than  bare  dislike,  for  inanimate  objects  when  they 
thwart  our  purposes,  yet  in  these  cases  we  ])robably  per- 
sonify the  things  at  which  \\c  are  angry.  Such  personifica- 
tion of  inanimate  objects  is  ridiculously  clear  in  a  child's 
anger  at  the  stones  which  refuse  to  be  built  into  forts,  or  at 
the  doors  which  resist  his  efforts  to  open  them;  and  even 
grown-up  resentment  against  smoking  fires  and  catching 
hooks  involves  a  personification  of  the  offending  object. 

Impersonal  emotion,  the  conscious  relation  of  happy  or 
unhappy  self  to  event  or  to  thing  is,  like  personal  emotion, 


I  go  A  First  Book  in   Psychology 

an  indi\  idualizinjf,  or  jKirticularizing,  experience.  Just  as  I 
love  or  hale,  j)ity  or  envy,  this  particular  person  or  these 
people,  and  do  not  impartially  and  indiscriminately  care  for 
'anybody,'  so,  also,  I  like  or  dislike  this  special  thing  or  these 
things,  am  bored  by  this  monotony,  and  pleased  with  that 
familiar  experience;  and  my  aesthetic  pleasure  is  always  an 
absorption  in  this  Chopin  Mazurka,  this  tree  white  with 
blossoms,  this  Shakespeare  sonnet,  not  an  indiscriminate 
delight  in  a  class  or  group. 

We  have  already  instanced  impersonal  like  and  dislike 
for  things,  not  people.  We  have  many  experiences,  also,  of 
satisfaction  or  dissatisfaction  with  the  relational  aspects  of 
things  or  events.  Our  outline  names  only  two  of  these: 
enjoyment  of  the  familiar,  and  the  parallel  distaste  for  the 
repeated  or  monotonous.  Both  feelings  are  well  known: 
the  cosey  comfort  of  the  old  chair  and  the  worn  coat,  even 
when  one  can  find  a  thousand  flaws  in  both;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  flat,  stale  profitlessness  of  the  well-known 
scene  and  the  every-day  objects.  We,  poverty-stricken, 
English-speaking  people,  have  no  noun  by  which  to  desig- 
nate this  latter  experience:  we  may  call  it  tediousness,  or 
may  speak  of  ourselves  as  'bored,'  but  we  are  often  driven 
to  borrow  one  of  the  adequate  foreign  expressions,  emiui  or 
Langweile. 

Like  and  dislike  and  the  relational  emotions  are  dis- 
tinctly egoistic,  laying  special  stress  on  myself  and  my  con- 
dition. Among  the  impersonal  emotions,  however,  are 
certain  highly  significant  experiences  which  are  embodi- 
ments of  the  other  phase,  the  altruistic,  self-effacing  phase 
of  consciousness.  The  first  of  these,  aesthetic  emotion,* 
must  be  considered  brieflv:    a   full    treatment    of  it  would 


I ui personal  Emotion  191 

require  another  volume,  and  would  lead  us  far  afield  into 
domains  of  philosophy  and  of  art.  i^sthetic  emotion  is  the 
conscious  happiness  in  which  one  is  absorbed,  and,  as  it 
were,  immersed  in  the  sense-object.  No  words  describe 
aesthetic  emotion  better  than   Byron's   question :  — 

"Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them?" 

For  the  aesthetic  consciousness,  as  truly  as  sympathetic 
emotion,  is  a  widening  and  deepening  of  self  —  never  a  loss 
of  self  —  by  identification  of  the  narrow  myself,  not  with 
other  selves,  but  with  sense-things. 

It  is  important  to  dwell  on  the  consciousness  of  self  in- 
volved in  the  aesthetic  feeling  because  there  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  sense  in  which  the  aesthetic  consciousness,  because 
it  refers  to  things,  not  to  people,  is  rightly  called  impersonal. 
But  absorption  in  the  beautiful  is  never  a  loss  of  self.  Most 
of  that  with  which  one  is  usually  concerned  is  indeed  lost : 
one's  practical  needs,  one's  scientific  interests,  even  one's 
loves  arid  hates  and  personal  relationships  are  vanished,  but 
in  place  of  these  there  is  the  beauty  of  this  or  that  sense- 
thing,  which  one  feels,  accepts,  and  receives,  widening  thus 
the  confines  of  one's  personality.  There  is  an  easy  intro- 
spective verification  of  this  account  of  the  aesthetic  conscious- 
ness. Let  a  man  scrutinize  closely  the  feeling  with  which  he 
emerges  from  one  of  those  'pauses  of  the  mind,'  in  which 
he  'contemplates'  an  object  'icsthetically' :  he  is  sure  to 
experience  a  curious  feeling  of  having  shrunken  away  from 
a  certain  largeness  and  inclusiveness  of  experience,  and 
though  he  has  regained  interests  which  he  had  tem])orarily 
lacked,  he  has  also  lost  somethint;  from  his  verv  self. 


192  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

From  this  general  description  of  aesthetic  emotion  as  an 
adoption  and  acknowledgment  of  sense-objects,  an  immer- 
sion of  oneself  in  the  external  and  objective,  we  enter  upon 
a  more  detailed  consideration  of  its  characteristics.  The 
aesthetic  emotion  is,  first  and  foremost,  enjoyment,  not  dis- 
satisfaction, a  mode  of  happiness,  never  of  unhappiness. 
This  follows  from  the  completeness  of  absorption  in  the 
aesthetic  object,  for  unhappiness  and  dissatisfaction  involve 
always  desire,  aversion,  or  resentment,  the  effort  to  escape 
from  one's  environment.  The  aesthetic  emotion  is,  therefore, 
a  consciousness  always  of  the  beautiful,  never  of  the  ugly. 
Not  the  emotional  aesthetic  experience  but  the  reflective 
aesthetic  judgment  has  to  do  with  ugliness;  for  ugliness  is 
not  a  positive  term  at  all,  but  a  reflective  description  of  an 
object  as  unaesthetic,  an  epithet  which  can  only  be  applied 
after  ofle  has  had  experience  of  the  beautiful. 

The  description  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  as  absorp- 
tion of  oneself  in  the  sense-object  indicates  a  second  charac- 
ter of  the  aesthetic  experience,  its  attentiveness.  This  con- 
ception of  aesthetic  emotion,  as  involving  attention,  helps  us 
account  for  the  things  which  people  call  beautiful.  It  is  an 
open  question  whether  simple  experiences,  such  as  single 
colors  or  tones,  have  any  beauty;  but  if  we  do  attribute 
beauty  to  them,  it  is  certainly  by  virtue  of  their  intensity  or 
distinctness,  as  when  we  admire  the  bright  color  or  the 
distinct  sound.  For  intense  and  distinct  experiences  are,  as 
we  know,  ready  objects  of  attention,  so  that  it  is  fair  to  con- 
clude that  sensational  experiences  are  beautiful,  if  ever,  when 
easily  attended  to.  A  careful  scrutiny  of  complex  objects 
of  beauty  shows  that  they,  too,  are  easily  attended  to,  though 
for  another  reason.     The  sense-object  which  is  beautiful  is 


Impersonal  Emolion  193 

always  a  unique  totality  of  characters,  and  both  by  the  unity 
in  which  its  details  are  united,  and  by  the  individuality  of 
the  combination,  it  is  readily  attended  to.  Every  beautiful 
object  is  an  illustration  of  the  principle.  Thus,  curves  are 
beautiful,  and  broken  lines  are  ugly,  in  part  because  the 
curve  is  a  whole,  readily  apprehended,  whereas  the  broken 
line  is  a  series  of  unessentially  connected  sections,  with  difli- 
culty  grasped  as  a  whole;  and  rhythm  is  beautiful  because 
it  binds  into  a  whole,  expectantly  apprehended,  the  succes- 
sive movements,  tones,  or  words  of  the  dance,  the  melody,  or 
the  poem.  The  more  complex  the  parts  which  are  bound 
together,  if  only  the  complexity  does  not  overstrain  the  atten- 
tion, the  more  organic  the  unity  and  the  greater  the  beauty. 
By  this  principle  we  may  explain  what  we  call  the  de- 
velopment of  our  aesthetic  consciousness.  To  a  child,  the 
couplet  or  the  quatrain  may  well  give  more  aesthetic  pleasure 
than  the  sonnet,  jjrcciscly  because  he  can  attend  to  the  one 
and  not  to  the  other,  as  harmonious  whole.  He  will  prefer 
the  short  lines  of  the  "Cavalier  Tune"  — 

"Kentish  Sir  Byng  stood  for  his  king, 
Letting  the  crop-headed  Parliament  swing," 

to  the  more  complicated  metre  of  "Herve  Riel"  — 

"On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 
Did  the  English  fight  the  French,  —  woe  to  France!" 

Consciousness  of  the  beautiful  is,  in  the  third  place, 
direct  and  immediate,  not  reflective  and  associative;  that 
is,  the  beautiful  is  always  an  object  of  direct  and  immedi- 
ate perception,  .^n  object  may  gain  interest,  significance, 
and  value,  but  never  beauty,  by  its  suggest iveness.  This 
is  an  important  point,  for  sentimental  moralists  and  even 
sober  psychologists  are  constantly  contrasting  what  is  called 


194  -4   First  Book  in  Psychology 

the  beaut V  of  expression,  or  significance,  with  immediately 
apprehended  beauty.  We  are  told,  for  instance,  that  the 
bent  figure  of  a  laborer  is  'beautiful'  because  the  man  has 
worked  bravely  and  faithfully,  or  that  an  ill-pro})ortioned, 
wooden  building  is  beautiful  because  it  is  a  happy  home. 
These  are  misleading  metaphors :  nothing  can  be  beautiful 
which  is  not  a  direct  and  immediate  object  of  sense-percep- 
tion; the  figure  is  ugly,  though  the  man's  life  is  an  inspira- 
tion; the  building  is  hideous,  though  it  enshrines  happiness. 
Nothing  is  gained,  indeed,  by  confusing  every  value  with  the 
distinct  and  well-defined  value  of  the  beautiful.  What  we 
mean  by  aesthetic  consciousness  is  a  direct  experience;  and, 
as  Miinsterberg  teaches,  only  the  unconnected,  the  '  isolated 
fact  in  its  singleness,'  can  be  beautiful  —  can  bring  about,  in 
other  words,  the  complete  absorption  of  self  in  sense-object. 
A  final  feature  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  has  already 
been  suggested;  it  is  a  characteristic  emphasized  by  Kant, 
by  Schiller,  by  Schopenhauer,  and,  indeed,  by  all  the  great 
teachers — the  entire  disinterestedness  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 
This  means  that  the  contrast  between  one  self  and  other  selves 
is  all  but  vanished  in  the  aesthetic  experience,  and  that  one 
becomes,  as  Schopenhauer  says,  '  a  world-eye,'  a  perceiving 
and  enjoying,  not  a  grasping  or  a  holding  self.  To  enjoy  a 
bronze  or  a  painting  because  it  is  mine,  or  to  delight  in  a  view 
because  it  stretches  out  before  my  window,  is  thus  an  utterly 
unjEsthetic  experience,  for  the  sense  of  beauty  admits  no  joy 
in  possession,  and  beauty  does  not  belong  to  any  individual. 
This  disinterestedness  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  explains 
the  mistaken  opposition,  sometimes  made,  of  the  'beautiful,' 
to  the  'useful.'  It  is  quite  incorrect  to  hold  that  a  useful 
object  may  not  also   be  beautiful;    and,  indeed,  men   like 


Impersonal  Emotion  195 

Morris  and  Ruskin  have  fairly  converted  even  this  Phih'stine 
age  to  the  possibiHty  of  welding  together  use  and  beauty,  in 
the  ])ractiealobjectsof  every-daylife,  in  buildings,  furnishings, 
and  utensils.  But  it  is  true  that  one's  consciousness  of  the 
utility  is  not  identical  with  one's  sense  of  the  beauty,  and  that 
one  seldom,  at  one  and  the  same  moment,  appreciates  the 
convenience  of  a  coflfcc-pot  handle  and  the  beauty  of  its 
curve,  or  realizes  the  brilliancy  of  a  color  and  the  likeli- 
hood that  it  will  not  fade.  While,  therefore,  objectively 
regarded,  the  union  of  beauty  and  utility  is  the  end  of  all 
the  arts  and  crafts,  subjectively  considered,  the  conscious- 
ness of  utility  must  not  be  identified  with  the  sense  of  beauty, 
precisely  because  the  aesthetic  sense  demands  the  subordi- 
nation of  narrow,  ])ersonal  ends. 

The  common  distinction  of  aesthetic  from  una?sthetic  sense- 
experiences  may  be  accounted  for  in  a  similar  fashion.  The 
organic  sensations,  such  as  satisfied  hunger  and  thirst,  bodily 
warmth,  active  exercise,  —  all  these  are  pleasant  but  they  are 
not '  aesthetic'  pleasures,  because  they  are,  of  necessity,  sharply 
indi\"idualized  and  referred  to  my  particular  self.  Tastes, 
also,  and  smells  are  exjjcriences  which  serve  narrow  and 
definite  ])ersonal  ends  of  bodily  sustenance.  They  are  sel- 
dom, therefore,  artistically  treated  as  objects  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  For  the  beautiful  object  is  cut  off  as  utterly  from 
my  narrow  neids  and  interests  as  from  the  associative  con- 
nection with  other  facts;  in  the  words  of  Schopenhauer,  it  is 
'neither  pressed  nor  forced  to  our  needs  nor  battled  against 
and  conquered  by  other  external  things.'  Thus  the  world 
of  beauty  narrows  to  include  one  object  of  beauty. 

Two  other  forms  of  altruistic  or  adoptive  impersonal 
emotion   must   be    mentioned.     The    first    of    these    is    the 


196  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

enjoyment  of  logical  unity,  often  discussed  under  the  name 
'intellectual  sentiment.'  Every  student  knows  the  feeling, 
and  counts  among  the  most  real  of  his  emotional  experi- 
ences the  satisfied  contemplation  of  an  achieved  unity  in 
scientific  classillcation  or  in  philosophical  system.  The 
feeling  should  be  sharply  distinguished  from  another  char- 
acteristic pleasure  of  the  student,  the  excitement  of  the  in- 
tellectual chase,  the  enjoyment  of  activity  in  even  unrewarded 
search.  The  pleasure  in  logical  unity  follows  upon  this 
tormenting  pleasure  of  the  chase,  as  achievement  follows 
upon  endeavor.  It  clearly  resembles  aesthetic  emotion  not 
only  in  its  absorption  and  disinterestedness,  but  also  in 
the  characteristic  harmony,  or  unity,  of  the  object  of  delight. 
For  this  reason,  the  enjoyment  of  logical  unity  is  sometimes 
reckoned  as  itself  an  aesthetic  experience.  The  writer  of  this 
book,  however,  approves  the  usage  which  restricts  the  appli- 
cation of  the  term  'beautiful'  to  sense-objects.  This  limita- 
tion, of  course,  forbids  the  treatment  of  enjoyment  of  logical 
unity  as  a  form  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 

Brief  reference  must  be  made,  finally,  to  a  third  form  of  im- 
personal and  altruistic  emotion  — the  'sense of  humor. '^  For 
our  present  purpose,  it  is  most  important  to  dwell  upon  the 
self- absorbing,  externalizing  nature  of  the  experience.  Just 
as  we  are  said  to  forget  ourselves  in  our  apprehension  of  the 
beautiful,  so  also  we  forget  ourselves,  that  is,  our  narrow 
individuality,  our  special  interests  and  purposes,'  in  our  ap- 
preciation of  the  humor  of  a  situation.  What  Professor 
Santayana  has  well  said  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  w'e  may 
equally  apply  to  the  saving  sense  of  humor :  there  is  hardly 
a  "situation  so  terrible  that  it  may  not  be  relieved  by  the 
momentary  pause  of  the  mind  to  contemplate  it  aesthetically  " 


The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Corniatcs  of  Emotion     197 

or  humorously.  It  is  because  wc  have  such  need  of  j)auses, 
in  the  arduous  business  of  h'ving,  that  we  vahic  the  sense  of 
humor  so  highly,  and  for  this  same  reason  wc  find  the  most 
estimable  people,  if  devoid  of  humor,  so  inexpressibly  tire- 
some. 

There  arc  as  many  theories  of  the  comic  as  of  the  beau- 
tiful, but  \irtually  all  of  them  agree  in  defining  the  sense 
of  humor  as  enjoyment  of  an  unessential  incongruity.  Nar- 
rowly scrutinized,  every  'funny'  scene,  every  witty  remark, 
every  humorous  situation,  reveals  itself  as  an  incongruity. 
The  incongruity  of  humor  must,  however,  be  an  unessen- 
tial discordance,  else  the  mood  of  the  observer  changes  from 
happiness  to  unhappiness,  and  the  comic  becomes  the  pathetic. 

III.    The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates 
OF  Emotion 

'        a.    The  Physiological  Conditions 

This  section,  which  concerns  itself  with  less  purely  psy- 
chological considerations,  will  first  discuss  the  physical  and 
physiological  conditions  of  emotion,  —  more  precisely  of 
those  elements  of  consciousness  to  which  a  structural  analysis 
reduces  emotion.  These  elements  include,  as  has  appeared, 
at  least  the  following:  (i)  affective  elements  of  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness,  and  (2)  organic  sensational  elements. 

(i)  The  affections  are  distinguished  from  sensational  ele- 
ments in  that  they  have  no  definite  j)hysical  stimulus,  no  dis- 
tinct form  of  physical  energy  which  corresponds  with  them, 
in  the  way  in  which  \'ibrations  of  the  ether  normally  condition 
sensations  of  color,  and  atmospheric  waves  condilion  sensa- 
tions of  sound.  This  independence  of  ])hysical  stimula- 
tion is  admitted  by  everybody,  so  far  as  the  mode  of  physical 


ig8  A   First  Book  in   Psychology 

stimulus  is  concerned.  Klhcr  or  almosi)licrc  vibrations, 
and  mechanical  or  electrical,  licjuid  or  gaseous,  stimulus  may 
bring  about  now  a  pleasant,  now  an  unpleasant,  now  a  per- 
fectly indifferent,  experience.  It  is  true  that  certain  sensa- 
tional qualities  —  pain  and  probably  also  certain  smells 
and  tastes  —  are  always  unpleasant,  and  there  may  be  certain 
sensational  qualities  which  are  always  pleasant;  but,  none 
the  less,  every  class  of  sensational  (jualitics  (except  that  of 
pain)  includes  both  agreeable  and  disagreeable  experiences; 
and  many  sensational  qualities  arc  sometimes  pleasant,  at 
other  times  unpleasant,  and  again  indifferent.*  It  follows,  as 
has  been  said,  that  the  affective  tone  cannot  vary  with  the 
mode  of  physical  stimulus. 

Some  psychologists  have,  however,  supposed  that  a  detinite 
relation  may  be  found  between  the  degree  —  and  possibly 
also  the  duration  —  of  physical  stimulation  and  the  affective 
experience.^  This  relation  is  usuall}'  formulated  as  follows: 
any  stimulus  of  great  intensity,  and  many  stimuli  of  prolonged 
duration,  occasion  unpleasantness,  whereas  stimuli  of  medium 
intensity  bring  about  pleasantness,  and  very  faint  stimuli 
excite  inditTerent  experiences.  But  this  is  not  an  accurate 
statement  of  the  facts.  Both  moderate  stimuli,  and  even 
stimuli  which  at  one  time  are  strong  enough  to  be  unpleasant, 
may  become  indifferent  —  for  example,  workers  in  a  factory 
may  grow  indifferent  to  the  buzz  of  the  wheels  which  is  in- 
tolerable to  visitors;  and  low  degrees  of  stimulation,  for  in- 
stance, the  faint  pressure  of  fingers  on  the  skin,  are  sometimes 
pleasant.  The  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  of  all  save 
sensational  experiences  of  great  intensity  seem  to  depend,  so 
far  as  they  can  be  explained  at  all,  not  on  the  physical  inten- 

*  For  experiment,  d.  Seashore,  Chapter  XV.,  pp.  191  ff. ;  Titchcner,  §  34. 


The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates  of  Emotion      199 

sityof  their  stimuli,  but  on  two  other  factors  —  the  unexpected- 
ness and  the  inlermillence  of  the  stimuh'.  The  constantly 
repeated  stimulus,  unless  very  strong,  is  indifferent,  whereas 
the  unexpected  stimulus  occasions  pleasure. 

We  have  thus  been  unsuccessful  in  the  effort  to  discover 
definite  physical  stimuli  of  the  affections.  We  have,  how- 
ever, reached  certain  positive,  though  as  yet  uncoordinated, 
results.  \'ery  intense,  and  intermittent  stimuli  occasion  un- 
pleasantness; unexpected  stimuli  of  moderate  intensity  ex- 
cite j)leasure;  and  habitual  stimuli  are  indilYerent.  A  fur- 
ther consideration  of  these  results  of  our  inquiry  leads  us  to 
a  study  of  the  physiological  conditions  of  affective  elements 
of  consciousness.  These,  to  be  sure,  can  be  only  hypotheti- 
cally  assigned,  because  they  have  eluded  discovery  by  direct 
cxjierimental  or  by  pathological  methods.  We  must  proceed 
cautiously  in  the  absence  of  direct  experiment,  but  we  are  safe 
in  asserting,  first  of  all,  that  there  are  no  peripheral  or  surface 
end-organs  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  since  such  end- 
organs  could  only  be  excited  by  s])ecial  physical  stimuli,  of 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  lliere  are  none.  Tt  is  also  probable 
that  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  not  brought  about 
by  the  excitation  of  the  sensory  cells  in  the  brain,  that  is,  of 
the  cells  directly  connected  by  afferent  nerves  with  the  surface 
end-organs.  For  variation  in  the  locality  of  these  function- 
ing cells,  in  the  degree  of  their  excitation,  and  in  the  number 
excited,  have  been  seen  to  correspond,  in  all  probability,  with 
sensational  qualities,  intensities,  and  extensities. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  any  theory  of  j)hysiological  conditions 
is  uncertain,  until  it  has  been  verified  by  exj)erimental  ob- 
servation, we  may  still  ])rohtably  guess  at  the  ])hysiological 
basis  for  the  affections."     In  the  writer's  opinion,  one  plaus- 


200  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

iblc  account  of  this  physiological  condition  is  the  following: 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  occasioned  by  the  ex- 
citation of  fresh  or  of  fatigued  cells  in  the  frontal  lobes  of  the 
brain,  and  the  frontal  lobe  is  excited  by  way  of  neurones 
from  the  Rolandic  area  of  the  brain.  When  the  neurones 
(or  cells)  of  the  frontal  lobes,  because  of  their  well-nourished 
and  unfatigued  condition,  react  more  than  adequately  to  the 
excitation  which  is  conveyed  to  them  from  the  Rolandic  area, 
an  experience  of  pleasantness  occurs ;  when,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  cells  of  the  frontal  lobe,  because  they  are  ill 
nourished  and  exhausted,  react  inadequately  to  the  excita- 
tion from  the  Rolandic  area,  then  the  affection  is  of  un- 
pleasantness; when,  finally,  the  activity  of  frontal-lobe  cells 
corresponds  exactly  to  that  of  the  excitation,  the  given  ex- 
perience is  neither  pleasant  nor  unpleasant,  but  indifferent.* 
This  theory  is  assumed,  as  working  hypothesis,  in  this  chapter. 
From  this  suggested  explanation  of  the  affective  factors  in 
emotion  we  must  turn  to  an  attempted  account  of  (2)  the 
sensational  constituents.^  These  are  of  two  main  classes: 
first,  those  which  are  brought  about  by  internal  bodily  changes, 
especially  by  changes  of  heart-beat  and  of  arterial  pressure; 
second,  those  which  are  due  to  the  movements  of  head,  limbs, 
and  trunk,  including  respiratory  movemcnts.f  Many  psy- 
chologists have  tried  to  discover,  experimentally,  exact  dif- 
ferences between  bodily  conditions  of  pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness  respectively. J     The  results  of  these   inves- 

*  The  general  reader  is  advised  to  omit  pp.  200^-204,-  certainly  at  the 
first  reading  of  the  chapter. 

t  On  this  subject,  the  student  is  advised  to  read  James,  "  Psychology, 
Briefer  Course,"  Chapter  XXIV.,  pp.  373-386;  or  "The  Principles  of 
Psychology,"  II.,  Chapter  XXV.,  pp.  449-471. 

I  For  experiments,  cf.  Seashore,  Chapter  XV.,  pp.  201  fl. ;  and  Titchener, 
§§  35-37- 


The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates  of  Emolioii     201 

ligations  are  not  unambiguous,  for  the  difTicuItics  of  experi- 
menting on  emotional  conditions  are  very  great.  It  is,  in 
the  first  place,  hard  to  bring  about  any  genuine  emotion 
under  laboratory  conditions  —  to  rouse  keen  joy  or  pro- 
nounced grief  while  one  is  encased  in  apparatus  destined  to 
measure  the  bodily  processes;  and,  in  the  second  place, 
emotional  states  are  so  complex  that  it  is  hard  to  isolate 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  for  experimental  testing. 
The  following  distinctions  may,  however,  be  accepted  as 
more  or  less  probable:  ^  — 

(i)  Pleasantness  is  characterized  by  a  slow  and  strong 
pulse,  by  dilating  arteries,  and  by  bodily  warmth.  Un- 
pleasantness is  characterized  by  a  fast,  weak  pulse  and  by 
bodily  chill.  This  is  the  result  best  established  by  experi- 
ment and  by  introspection. 

(2)  Pleasantness  is  perhaps  charactcrizerl  by  relatively 
quick  and  weak  breathing;  un])leasantness  by  slow  and 
deep  breathing.     This  conclusion  is  not  so  well  substantiated. 

It  should  be  added  that  all  these  bodily  conditions  may  con- 
ceivably occur  without  our  being  conscious  of  them  ;  but  that 
the  consciousness  due  to  the  internal  changes  (the  conscious- 
ness of  heart -beat,  of  warmth,  of  cold,  and  the  like)  are  jjrob- 
ably  always  a  part,  even  if  an  unemphasized  part,  of  emotion ; 
whereas  the  consciousness  of  some,  at  least,  of  tin-  external 
changes,  of  altered  breathing  or  of  actual  movements  of  the 
body,  is  only  a  fre((uent  and  not  an  invariable,  constituent  of 
emotion.  My  amusement,  for  examjjle,  often  include-^  my 
consciousness  of  my  smile,  yet  I  may  be  amused  without 
smiling. 

It  is  thus  evident  that  certain  bodily  changes,  internal  and 
external  —  changes  in  dilation  of  blood-vessels  and  in  j)ulse. 


202  A   First  Book  in   Psychology 

in  rcs])iralion,  and  in  the-  movements  of  face  and  limbs  — 
condition  and  accompany  the  emotions.  But  we  have  not 
completed  our  study  of  the  bodily  conditions  of  emotion  until 
we  try  to  discover  the  brain  or  nerve  changes  which  condition 
these  changes  in  pulse,  respiration,  and  the  rest.  A  prob- 
able account  of  these  brain  changes  is  the  following.  First, 
(a)  sensory  brain-centres  are  excited  through  perception  or 
imagination  of  a  given  object;  next  {b)  the  excitation  of  these 
sensory  neurones  spreads  to  the  brain-centre  of  bodily  sensa- 
tions and  movements,  that  is,  to  the  region  forward  and  back 
of  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  and  there  excites  motor  cells.*  This 
excitation  of  the  motor  neurones  of  the  Roland ic  region  is 
then  carried  (i)  downward  to  lower  brain-centres  in  the 
medulla  oblongata,  which  control  the  unstriped  muscular 
coatings  of  inner  organs  of  the  body,  such  as  blood-vessels, 
heart,  and  intestines.  In  this  way  the  internal  circulatory 
changes  are  brought  about :  the  heart -beat  and  pulses  are 
checked  or  increased,  and  the  arteries  (not  the  big  ones  near 
the  heart,  but  the  smaller,  thin-walled  vessels  in  outlying 
parts  of  the  body)  are  dilated  or  constricted,  thus  occasioning 
either  a  flush  and  rising  temperature  or  pallor  and  chilliness. 
The  downward  excitation  is  carried  (2)  to  the  striped  or 
skeletal  muscles  attached  to  the  bones  of  the  body,  and  thus 
the  '  external '  changes  in  breathing  and  muscular  contraction 
are  occasioned.  Both  sorts  of  bodily  change,  the 'internal' 
and  the  'external,'  excite  end-organs  of  pressure,  and  the  in- 
ternal changes  excite  also  end-organs  of  warmth  and  cold ; 
and  these  excitations  of  the  end-organs  of  pressure  and  of 
warmth  or  cold  are  carried  upward  by  ingoing  nerves  to  the 
sensory  cells    of    the    bodily-sensation-and-movement-centre 

*  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  7. 


The  Bodily  Coiidilioiis  and  Correlates  of  Emolloii      203 

(thf  Rolandic  area).  The  excitation  of  these  sensory  cells 
•s  the  ininu'(h'ate  conch'tion  of  all  the  organic  sensations 
(whether  due  to  internal  changes  or  to  external  movements) 
which  arc  present  in  emotional  experience.  And  from  the 
Rolandic  area,  excitations  carried  to  the  frontal  lobe  bring 
about  that  adetjuate  (or  inadequate)  excitation  of  neurones 
which  conditions  the  pleasantness  (or  un])leasanlness)  of 
emotion. 

We  may  illustrate  this  com])licated  description  by  the 
hypothetical  account  of  the  bodily  conditions  of  some  special 
emotion  —  for  cxamj)le,  of  the  delight  wiili  wliich  I  hail  the 
unexpected  arrival  of  a  friend.  The  conditions  of  this  joy 
are,  presumably :  — 

First,  {a)  the  spread  of  excitations  from  the  sense-centres, 
excited  by  the  sight  of  my  friend,  to  motor  nc-urones  in  the 
Rolandic  area;  and  {b)  the  excitation  of  downward  motor 
neurones. 

Second,  stronger  heart-beat  and  i)ulse,  and  dilation  of  the 
smaller  arteries  which  results  in  bodily  warmth  and  in  redden- 
ing of  the  skin. 

Third,  probably,  swifter  and  shallower  breathing,  as  well  as 
other  changes  (due  to  the  contraction  of  skeletal  muscles)  such 
as  smiles  and  hand-clapping. 

Fourth,  {a)  excitation  of  end-organs  of  pressure,  occa- 
sioned by  the  internal  bodily  movements  which  always  occur, 
and  by  the  external  muscular  contractions  when  they  occur; 
and  {b)  the  upward  spread  of  these  excitations  to  sense-cells 
of  the  Rc^landic  area.  The  excitation  of  one  grou|)  of  these 
sense-cells  occasions  the  sensations  of  internal  warmth  and 
pressure,  which  are  always  a  part  of  the  emotion  of  joy;  and 
the  excitation  of  another  grouj)  of  these  cells,  when  il  occurs, 


204  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

conditions  the  sensational  consciousness  of  external  move- 
ment which  often  forms  a  part  of  'joy.' 

Fifth,  the  spread  of  excitations  from  these  Rolandic  sense- 
neurones,  to  the  frontal  lobes,  followed  by  the  adequate  ex- 
citation of  frontal-lobe  cells.  This  vigorous  excitation  may 
be  explained,  at  least  in  part,  in  the  following  manner :  the 
stronger  heart-beat,  characteristic  of  joy,  pumps  blood  from 
the  heart,  and  all  parts  of  the  body,  including  the  brain,  are 
therefore  relatively  well  nourished.  The  result  of  this 
adequate  excitation  of  well-nourished  frontal-lobe  neurones 
is  the  affective  element  of  the  emotion  —  its  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness.  A  diagram  may  make  all  this  clearer  (see 
page  205) : — 

b.    The  Instinctive  Bodily  Reactions  to  Environment 
in  Emotion 

Important  to  a  study  of  emotion  is  a  consideration  of  those 
bodily  reactions  which  accompany  and,  in  part,  condition 
emotional  states.  They  are  noticeable,  in  the  first  place,  as 
interruptions  of  preceding  bodily  reactions  of  every  sort.  On 
the  one  hand,  they  are  interruptions  of  those  regular  and 
habitual  reactions  which  normally  accompany  perception; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  interrupt  the  deliberate  and  pur- 
posive bodily  movements  of  thought  and  of  will.  A  second 
character  of  emotional  reactions  allies  them  with  sensational 
and  with  perceptual  reactions :  they  are  swift  and  immediate, 
following  directly  on  stimulation.  Emotional  reactions,  in 
the  third  place,  like  all  merely  sensational  and  like  some  per- 
ceptual reactions,  are  instinctive,  untaught.  The  deliberative 
reaction  to  a  new  situation  —  the  movements  necessary,  for 
example,  in  setting  up  a  new  piece  of  apparatus  —  and  even 


The  Binlilv  Conditions  and  Correlates  of  Emotion     20= 


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2o6  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

the  less  complex  perceptual  reactions  —  the  movements, 
for  example,  with  which  I  react  to  the  ringing  of  my 
telephone  bell  —  have  all  been  accjuired,  that  is,  learnetl 
through  imitation  of  somebody  else  or  through  my  indi- 
vidual experience  of  success  and  failure;  but  my  caress, 
my  shudder,  my  laughter,  —  all  these  are  instinctive  bodily 
responses. 

Emotional  reactions  are  classified  in  two  ways.  They  arc 
distinguished,  in  the  first  place,  as  either  chaotic  excess-reac- 
tions or  as  coordinated  hereditary  reactions.  The  distinction 
may  best  be  brought  out  by  illustration.  Suppose  that  I  am 
seated  at  my  desk  and  dictating  a  letter  to  my  stenogra- 
pher, in  part  reading  from  manuscript  and  in  part  composing. 
My  consciousness  is  quite  unemotional.  My  bodily  reactions 
are  compounded  of  (i)  the  habitual  bodily  reflexes  which 
accompany  and  follow  my  perception  of  the  letter  which  I 
read,  and  of  (2)  the  more  deliberate  and  hesitating  reflexes 
which  accompany  my  adoption  of  the  phrases  which  I  add. 
At  this  moment  I  am  frightened,  let  us  say,  by  the  sight  of  a 
beast  escaped  from  a  travelling  menagerie.  What  now  is  the 
character  of  the  bodily  response  to  this  environment  ?  It  is  of 
course,  an  instinctive  reaction,  and  it  involves  an  instanta- 
neous 'checking'  of  the  behavior  of  the  previous  moment :  I 
at  once  drop  the  letter  I  have  been  holding  and  I  stop  speak- 
ing. And  it  is  either  a  chaotic  and  unordered  reaction  —  a 
helpless  shriek,  and  an  impotent  running  to  and  fro  —  or  it  is 
a  coordinated  action  of  the  hereditary  type;  for  example,  I 
run  away  from  the  beast  or  I  attack  him  with  some  bludgeon. 
Professor  Angell  has  admirably  explained  emotional  reac- 
tions of  these  two  types.  The  stimulus  of  the  emotion  — 
whether   external   object   or   image  —  checks   the  reaction, 


TJic  Bodily  Conditions  and  Corrclalcs  of  Emotion      207 

liabilual  or  volitional,  of  the  i)rec(.(lin<^  movfincnl,  so  that 
(in  Angell's  words)*  "llu-  motor  chaniu'is  of  at(|uircd  coor- 
dinated .  .  .  movements  are  somewhat  obstructed."  These 
motor  impulses  "overtlow  .  .  .  into  channels  leading  partly 
to  the  involuntary  muscles,"  and  thus  resulting  in  aimless, 
futile  movements,  ''and  partly,  through  hereditary  intluences, 
to  the  voluntary  system,"  resulting  in  useful  and  coordinated, 
though  unplanned,  reactions. 

Within  this  group  of  coordinated  and  hereditary  reactions  a 
second  distinction  may,  finally,  be  made.  The  reactions  which 
accompany  the  happy  emotions  arc  movements  of  advance 
—  such  movements  as  the  baby's  outstretching  of  his  arms 
to  his  mother;  the  reactions  which  accompany  the  unhappy 
emotions  are  movements  of  withdrawal,  such  as  the  shrinking 
of  the  child  ivom  the  unfamih'ar  figure.  All  these  instinc- 
tive hereditary  reactions  may  be  studied  from  the  standpoint 
of  their  biological  significance.  Darwin  and  others  have 
shown  that  the  bodily  changes  in  emotion  are  modified  sur- 
vivals of  instinctive  reactions  of  animals  and  of  primitive 
men  to  Tlieir  en\-ironment."  The  trembling  of  fear,  for  ex- 
ample, is  an  instinctive  movement  which  takes  the  place  of 
actual  flight  from  the  enemy ;  the  snarl  of  hate  is  a  modified 
survival  of  the  way  in  which  an  animal  uncovers  his  teeth, 
in  order  to  tear  and  devour  his  i)rey,  and  the  quickened 
breath  of  anger  is  a  survival  of  the  labored  breath  of  an 
animal  or  of  a  savage,  in  a  lifc-and-dealh  contest  with  an 
enemy,  f 

♦"Psychology,"  Chapter  X\'III.,  pp.  321-322.  The  student  is  advised 
to  read  Cliaptcrs  Will,  and  XIX.  in  full. 

t  The  student  should  consult  Darwin,  "E.xpression  of  the  Emotions," 
e.xamining  the  illustrations.  For  condensed  statement  of  Darwin's  teaching, 
cf.  James,  the  end  of  each  of  the  chapters  cited  on  p.  200. 


2o8  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

IV,     The  Significance  of  Emotion 

The  two  fundamental  characters  of  emotion  press  to  the 
foreground  of  our  attention  as  we  turn  again  to  the  ])ractical 
question:  What  is  the  bearing  of  our  psychology  on  our 
behavior?  Precisely  because  of  these  basal  characters, 
emotion  is  an  important  factor  in  behavior.  Emotion  is,  in 
the  first  place,  an  individualizing  experience:  it  fosters  ex- 
plicit self-realization  and  direct  personal  relations  and  it 
makes  other  people  real  to  me.  And  it  is,  in  the  second  place, 
a  receptive  experience,  and  makes  me  sensitive  to  my  envi- 
ronment and  responsive  to  every  aspect  of  it.  A  secondary 
character  of  emotion  is  also  significant  from  the  i)oint  of 
view  of  conduct.  By  its  very  vividness  and  coerciveness 
emotion  tends  to  interrupt  the  habitual  course  of  perception 
and  of  thought  —  somewhat  as  the  emotional  bodily  reac- 
tion breaks  in  on  the  habitual  response  or  on  the  deliberate 
chain  of  reactions.  And  this  emotional  interruption  has,  of 
course,  its  uses  and  its  corresponding  defects.  If  my  habitual 
activities  are  never  interrupted  by  emotion,  I  shall  react  in 
undeviating  fashion  to  my  environment  for  all  the  world 
like  a  well-wound  wax  figure ;  and  if  my  reasonings  are  never 
broken  in  upon  by  feeling,  I  am  little  more  than  a  calculating 
machine.  On  the  other  hand,  if  my  thinking  is  never  secure 
from  the  inroad  of  my  emotions,  I  am  like  a  heap  of  fire- 
works, ready  to  be  set  off  by  any  chance  spark. 

The  practical  conclusions  from  this  estimate  of  the  sig- 
nificance of  emotion  are  very  obvious  and  yet  are  worth  a 
restatement.  All  of  them  presuppose,  of  course,  the  possi- 
bility of  stimulating,  checking,  modifying  —  in  a  word,  the 
possibility  of  controlling  the  emotions.  On  this  point  one 
preliminary  observation  must  be  made.     The  emotions  are 


The  Signijiiaiicc  of  Emotion  209 

only  indirectly  controllable.  Nobody  can  wave  a  wand  and 
say  to  himself,  "Now  J '11  be  haj^py,"  or  "Now  is  the  time 
to  feel  mournful."  This  is  a  fact  which  people  arc  always 
overlooking.  "I've  brought  you  here  to  be  hai)py,  and  you 
shall  be  hapj)y,"  says  the  mother  to  the  little  girl  on  a  coun- 
try-week excursion ;  but  a  shriek  compounded  of  discontent 
and  indignation  is  the  well-directed  answer  of  the  child. 
Yet,  though  one  may  not  by  a  feat  of  will  exorcise  the  evil 
passion  or  the  gnawing  melancholy  there  are  devices  for 
removing  the  conditions  of  emotion.  1  may  mechanically 
turn  my  attention  to  an  absorbing  and  distracting  book  or 
occupation;  I  may  open  my  mind  to  some  tranquillizing 
influence;  or  I  may  arbitrarily  assume  the  bodily  postures 
which  accompany  pleasure.  I  shall  be  most  successful  in 
these  indirect  efforts  to  expel  emotion  if,  by  their  means,  I 
can  rouse  a  strong  emotion  opposed  to  the  one  which  T  am 
trying  to  banish.  Love  that  is  perfect  casts  out  fear  because 
I  cannot  be  at  the  same  time  vividly  and  happily  conscious 
of  another  self  in  equal  companionship  with  me  and  yet 
unhappily  conscious  of  the  same  self  as  my  superior  and  as 
cause  of  my  unhappiness.  And  in  like  fashion  love  may 
exorcise  demons  of  unhallowed  desire  and  of  sullen  melan- 
choly. Shakespeare,  great  analyst  of  the  human  passions, 
vividly  emphasizes  this  truth :  — 

"When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes, 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state 
And  trouble  deep  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries 
And  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate 

*  :|c  :ic  i|:  4:  !|t 

Haply  I  think  on  thee  and  then  my  state 

Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 

From  sullen  earth  sinirs  hymns  at  heaven's  eatc" 


2IO  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

From  this  preliminary  study  of  tlic  ways  of  controlling 
emotion  wc  must  turn  back  to  the  more  specific  problem: 
What  are  the  helpful  and  what  the  harmful  emotions?  At 
the  outset,  we  must  recognize  that  emotion  is  an  important, 
and  indeed  an  inevitable,  constituent  of  the  psychic  life. 
We  are  not  to  try,  therefore,  to  suppress  all  emotion  —  and 
not  to  suppose  that  we  can  be  successful  if  we  try.  To  be 
universally  bored  or  blase  is  for  most  people  a  pose  and  an 
affectation;  and  in  so  far  as  the  effort  is  sincere  it  is  a  mere 
sign  of  incompleteness,  an  admission  that  one  is  only  half 
a  human  being. 

But  though  it  is  alike  futile  and  mistaken  to  attempt  to 
banish  emotion  from  experience,  it  is  none  the  less  certain 
that  emotions  may  be  harmful.  Emotions  are  positively 
harmful  if  they  interfere  with  essential  habits;  they  are 
harmful  also  if  they  do  not  stimulate  to  active  consciousness 
—  that  is,  to  volitions  or  to  beliefs.  The  first  of  these  asser- 
tions is  so  obvious  that  it  hardly  needs  to  be  enlarged  upon. 
I  simply  cannot  go  on  living  unless  I  can  protect  my  use- 
ful habits  from  the  incursions  of  my  emotions ;  and  I  cannot 
carry  on  any  train  of  reasoning  while  I  am  strongly  swayed 
by  my  passions  or  by  my  feelings.  It  is  even  more  necessary 
to  emphasize,  in  the  second  place,  the  truth  that  emotion  is 
not  an  end  in  itself;  that  emotion,  though  in  itself  receptive 
or  passive,  is  significant  in  so  far  as  it  is  incentive  to  activity; 
and  that  emotion  turned  upon  itself,  and  issuing  in  no  action 
not  only  fails  of  its  particular  result  but  inhibits  the  future 
tendency  to  activity.  Indulgence  in  emotions  never  leading 
to  action  may  become,  in  truth,  the  starting-point  of  actual 
disease,  nervous  and  mental ;  and  one  of  the  soundest  meth- 
ods of  scientific  psvchotherapy  is  the  discovery  of  a  patient's 


The  Sigiiijicance  of  Emotion  211 

■suppressed  emotions,'  and  the  efTort  to  guide  them  into  safe 
outlets  of  action.*  To  hug  one's  emotions  to  oneself,  to 
seek  or  cherish  them  after  Rousseau's  or  Werther's  fashion, 
for  the  mere  delight  or  excitement  of  having  them  is,  there- 
fore, to  run  the  risk  of  cripi)ling  one's  power  to  will,  to  choose, 
and  to  play  an  active  role  in  life.  Constant  theatre-going 
and  novel-reading  are  injurious  precisely  because  they  stimu- 
late the  emotions  without  providing  any  natural  outlet  of 
activity.  The  reality  of  this  danger  and  the  practical  method 
of  guarding  against  it  have  been  well  set  forth  by  Professor 
James.  "Every  time,"  he  says,  "a  fine  glow  of  feeling 
evaporates  without  bearing  practical  fruit  is  worse  than  a 
chance  lost;  it  works  so  as  positively  to  hinder  future  reso- 
lutions. .  .  .  One  becomes  filled  with  emotions  which  ha- 
bitually pass  without  prompting  to  any  deed,  and  so  the 
inertly  sentimental  condition  is  kept  up.  The  remedy  would 
be,  never  to  sufi'er  oneself  to  have  an  emotion,  .  .  .  without 
expressing  it  afterward  in  some  active  way."t 

Thjs  conclusion  about  the  relation  of  emotion  to  activity 
furnishes,  as  will  at  once  appear,  the  most  important 
criterion  of  the  value  of  j)articular  emotions.  Emotions  are 
of  very  manifold  sorts  and  kinds,  and  are  consequently  of 
diverse  and  unequal  value.  In  fostering  and  in  checking 
emotion  we  must,  therefore,  recognize  the  ditTerent  values  of 
the  different  emotions.  For  the  complete  estimation  of  emo- 
tions, as  adajjted  to  varying  situations,  there  is  here  no  op- 
portunity, but  the  main  principles  of  such  an  estimate  may 
be  stated.  In  brief:  I  should  seek,  in  the  control  and 
development   of   my   emotions,   as   complete   an    emotional 

*  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  X\'I. 

t  "The  Priiiciplis  of  Psychology,"  I.,  Chapler  I\'.,  pp.   125-126. 


212  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

experience  as  is  consistent  with  the  function  of  emotion  to 
stimulate  helpful  activity.  On  this  basis,  three  practically 
significant  conclusions .  may  be  formulated.  First,  in  and 
for  themselves,  the  pleasurable  emotions  are  helpful  and 
the  unpleasant  emotions  are  harmful.  This  statement 
stands  in  direct  opposition  to  the  teaching  of  asceticism  that 
pleasure  is  in  itself  an  evil,  but  follows  immediately  from  the 
principle  that  emotion  is  useful  in  so  far  as  it  stimulates 
activity.  For  pleasure  more  often  and  more  intensely  than 
its  opposite,  pain,*  leads  to  activity.  The  desire  to  avoid 
pain  is,  to  be  sure,  a  stimulus  alike  to  conscious  and  to 
bodily  activity.  But  greater  decisions  are  made,  truer 
loyalty  is  shown,  more  seemingly  impossible  results  are 
achieved  through  hope  than  through  fear,  through  love 
than  through  hate,  through  confidence  than  through  anxiety. 
Evidently,  therefore,  other  things  being  equal,  one  should 
seek  to  rouse  and  to  perpetuate  pleasant  emotions;  and,  con- 
versely, it  is  absurd  to  urge  any  one  to  choose  a  profession  or 
an  occupation  or  a  course  of  study  because  it  is  unpleasant 
and  therefore  salutary.  It  will  appear  immediately  that 
many  pleasant  emotions  are  harmful;  but  this  is  always  by 
virtue  of  some  character  other  than  their  pleasantness. 

Second,  altruistic  emotions,  because  most  of  them  are 
less  instinctive,  are  more  in  need  of  cultivation  than  egoistic 
emotions.  In  general,  only  people  whose  instincts  have 
been  warped  by  unnatural  training  need  to  be  exhorted  to 
seek  happiness  for  themselves.  Most  of  us,  surely,  would  be 
larger  and  more  effective  selves  if  the  scope  of  our  sympa- 

*  The  word  'pain'  is  here  used,  in  its  popular  sense,  to  designate  the  oppo- 
site of  pleasure;  not  in  its  technically  correct  meaning,  to  designate  a  sen- 
sational consciousness. 


The  Significance  of  Emotion  213 

Ihics  were  widened,  and  if  the  happiness  and  unhajipiness 
which  we  sliarc  with  other  selves  were  intensified.  In  order 
to  widen  my  own  personality  and  in  order  to  transform 
merely  passive  emotion  into  active  loyalty,  I  should  therefore 
cultivate  my  altruistic  emotions. 

Third,  neitlier  the  personal  nor  the  impersonal  emotions 
should  be  cherished  to  the  exclusion  of  the  others.  This 
'rule'  is  i)rimarily  in  the  interest  of  completeness  of  experi- 
ence. There  are  people  who  arc  never  stirred  by  the  beauty 
of  harmony,  of  form,  or  of  color,  who  never  draw  breaths  of 
satisfaction  at  the  completeness  of  a  demonstration  or  at  the 
nicety  of  a  logical  distinction.  Such  people  may  be  vividly 
emotional  —  they  may  be  moved  to  their  depths  by  personal 
contact,  they  may  love  and  hate  and  envy,  and  may  quiver 
with  sympathy.  And  yet  they  miss  part  of  what  life  might 
give  them;  and  for  lack  of  the  occasional  detachment  from 
the  personal,  their  emotional  life  is  one-sidecl  and  thwarted. 

The  opposite  defect  is,  however,  more  serious.  By  miss- 
ing the  impersonal  joys  of  life  one  defrauds  mainly  one- 
self;  but  by  lacking  the  personal  emotions  one  impoverishes 
other  selves  as  well.  The  characteristic  temptation  of  certain 
temperaments  is  to  regard  the  personal  as  if  impersonal,  to 
look  at  all  human  happenings  from  the  standpoint  of  aes- 
thetic and  intellectual  emotion.  Thus  regarded,  a  squalid 
tenement  house  is  merely  picturesque,  and  a  defalcation  is  an 
interesting  social  situation.  The  dangers  of  this  attitude  are 
apparent.  The  impersonal  emotions  lead  to  contemplation 
and  are  perilously  out  of  place  in  situations  which  demand 
action. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  cultivation  of  my  altruistic 
and  my  personal  emotions  leads  often  to  my  abandoning  the 


214  ^   First  Book  in  Psychology 

happy  for  the  unha])j)y  experience.  But  this  abandonment 
should  never  be  from  choice  of  tlie  unhappy-as-such.  In 
spite  of,  not  because  of,  the  unhappiness  which  it  brings  me, 
I  should  exchange  my  delighted  contemplation  of  the  thatched 
cottage  for  a  sympathetic  consciousness  of  the  discomfort  of 
its  damp  and  smoky  interior.  The  estimation  of  the  com- 
parative value  of  pleasure  is  one  of  the  concerns  of  ethics. 
Every  student  of  ethics  and  e\ery  keen  observer  of  life  admits 
that  the  desire  for  pleasure  must  be  strictly  controlled,  not 
because  pleasure  is  evil  in  itself  but  because  it  is  so  instinc- 
tively sought  that  it  tends  to  displace  more  important  objects 
of  choice. 

A  brief  reference  must  be  made,  in  conclusion,  to  the 
unhealthy  fashion  of  stimulating  unpleasant  emotion  in  the 
alleged  interest  of  completeness  of  experience.  The  popu- 
larity of  sensational  novels  and  of  problem-plays  is  the  con- 
temporary indication  of  this  tendency.  But  nobody  needs  to 
seek  unpleasantness  merely  in  order  to  enrich  his  experi- 
ence, for  life  is  bound  to  furnish  enough  that  is  unpleasant. 
The  only  safe  rule  is  never  to  create  or  to  seek  the  unpleasant 
save  as  it  leads  to  action  individually  necessary  or  socially 
helpful.  Such  a  principle  lies  at  the  basis  of  a  sound  esti- 
mate in  the  New  York  Nation  of  certain  widely  read  novels. 
"Their  revelations  of  the  hideous  conditions  of  life,"  the 
Nation  says,  "are  not  calculated  to  make  any  person  of 
good-will  seek  out  that  suffering  and  relieve  it.  .  .  .  In  a 
time  when  sensationalism  and  overemphasis  of  all  kinds  bid 
fair  to  be  regarded  as  the  chief  literary  virtues,  these  sordid 
infernos  go  a  step  farther  and  deal  consciously  in  the  revolt- 
ing. .  .  .  To  view  a  brutal  action  may  be  salutary  if  it 
prompts  one  to  knock  the  brute  down;    to  penetrate  the 


The  Significance  of  Emotion 


215 


lowest  human  depths,  l)carinu;  aid,  is  well;  to  classify  a  new 
gangrene  is  well  if  it  evokes  a  remedy;  but  to  i)ry  about  a 
pathological  laboratory  that  one  may  experience  the  last 
qualm  of  disgust,  and  then  to  ex])loit  such  disgust  for  literary 
purposes,  is  to  create  a  public  nuisance." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WILL 

I.    The  Nature  of  Will 

a.    Will  as  Personal  Attitude 

Sharply  contrasted  with  the  receptive,  passive  relations 
of  my  conscious  self  to  its  object,  or  environment,  are 
two  supremely  assertive,  active,  experiences:  will,  or 
volition,  and  faith.  In  perceiving,  I  cannot  help  seeing  and 
hearing  and  smelling;  and  though  I  can,  to  a  degree,  control 
my  imaginings,  yet  I  am  a  victim,  often,  of  my  imagination, 
for,  in  normal  as  well  as  in  abnormal  states,  insignificant 
word-series  may  repeat  themselves  with  wearisome  itera- 
tions, grewsome  scenes  may  thrust  themselves  upon  me,  and 
bitter  experiences  may  unroll  themselves  before  my  unwill- 
ing eyes.  In  emotion,  finally,  I  am  influenced  by  people 
and  things,  'prostrate  beneath  them,'  as  Goethe  somewhere 
says.*  Opposed  to  all  these  receptive  attitudes  are  will  and 
faith :  the  dominant  assertive  relations  of  the  self  to  objects 
of  any  sort.  Will  is  a  consciousness  of  my  active  connection 
with  other  selves  or  with  things,  an  egoistic,  imperious  rela- 
tion, a  domineering  mood,  a  sort  of  bullying  attitude.  In 
will  I  am  actively,  assertively,  related  to  my  environment,  I 
am  conscious  of  my  superiority  and  my  independence  of  it, 

*  Cf.  pp.  II  ff.,  121  fT.,  and  171  ff.  Thought  is  not  in  itself  an  assertive 
experience,  but  is  often  a  result  of  volition. 

216 


Will  as  Personal  Attitude  217 

I  conceive  of  it  as  existing  mainly  for  my  own  use  or  gratifica- 
tion. 

Every  leader  or  captain  among  men  is  thus  an  embodi- 
ment of  will :  his  domain  may  be  great  or  small,  spiritual  or 
physical,  civil  or  literary;  he  may  be  king  or  cabinetmaker, 
archbishoj)  or  machinist,  inventor  or  novehst;  whate\cr  his 
position,  if  he  consciously  imposes  himself  on  others,  if  he 
moulds  to  his  ideals,  on  the  one  hand,  their  civic  functions, 
their  forms  of  worship  or  their  literary  standards,  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  their  furniture  and  their  means  of  transportation, 
he  stands  to  them  in  the  relation  of  imperious,  domineering, 
willing  self. 

The  rebel  and  the  stoic  arc  even  more  striking  embodi- 
ments of  will  than  the  mere  leaders  of  men.  For  stoicism 
and  rebellion  are  instances  of  imperiousness,  in  the  face  of 
great  or  even  overwhelming  natural  odds,  —  assertions  of 
one's  independence  in  the  very  moment  of  opposition  or  de- 
feat. The  stoic,  in  spite  of  his  conviction  that  apparent 
success  is  with  his  opponent,  is  unflinching  in  the  assertion 
of  his'  own  domination.  "  In  the  fell  clutch  of  circum- 
stance," he  declares  the  more  firmly  — 

"  I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 

Prometheus  defying  Zeus  who  tortures  him  is  the  classic  type 
of  the  rebel:  — 

"  Fiend,  I  defy  thee !  with  a  calm  fixed  mind, 
All  that  thou  canst  inflict  I  bid  thee  do. 
Foul  tyrant  both  of  Gods  and  humankind, 
One  only  being  shalt  thou  not  subdue. 
*****  * 

Ay,  do  thy  worst.     Thou  art  omnipotent 
O'er  all  things  but  thy.self  .   .   . 
And  my  own  will.  ..." 


2i8  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

II  is  this  altilude  of  mind,  not  any  specific  direction  of 
consciousness  toward  a  definite  result,  which  constitutes  what 
we  call  will,  in  the  most  intimate  meaning  of  that  word:  a 
realization  of  one's  independence  of  people  and  of  things,  a 
sense,  more  or  less  explicit,  of  the  subordination  of  one's  en- 
vironment to  one's  own  use,  bodily  or  spiritual,  — such  a  pos- 
session of  oneself  as  is,  in  its  completest  development,  a  sub- 
jugation of  every  outlying  circumstance,  of  every  opposing 
self,  and  even  of  every  insubordinate  desire  and  thought. 
For  only  then  is  my  self-assertion  complete  whpn  I  can  say  — 

"  Yet  am  I  king  over  myself  and  rule 

The  torturing  and  conflicting  ttirongs  within." 

Will  is  thus  an  egoistically  assertive  experience.  It  is  also 
(like  emotion)  a  profoundly  and  a  doubly  individualizing  ex- 
perience. Never  am  1  more  poignantly  conscious  of  myself 
as  single  individual,  as  I-and-no-other,  than  when  I  assert 
myself  in  domination  over  my  environment  or  in  opposition 
to  it.  And  with  equal  emphasis  I  individualize  the  object  of 
my  will :  I  assert  my  superiority  over  this  individual,  I  com- 
mand this  soldier,  I  dominate  this  obstacle. 

There  are  two  fundamentally  important  forms  of  will  — 
will  directed  toward  a  future  object  and  will  without  temporal 
reference.  Will  of  the  first  type  has  as  object  a  specific  future 
event.  Will  without  temporal  object  is  the  consciousness  of 
my  domination  of  opposing  person  or  of  outlying  circumstance, 
and  need  not  include  any  contemplation  of  future  change. 
It  is  a  more  fundamental  experience  than  will  directed  toward 
future  object,  for  this  latter  form  of  will  is  the  expression, 
ordinarily,  of  the  underlying  non-temporal  volitional  attitude. 
One  often,  indeed,  issues  commands  solely  as  expression  of  an 
overbearing  disposition,  after  the  fashion  of  the  mother  who 


Will  as  Personal  Attitude  219 

sends  a  messenger  lo  the  garden  "to  sec  what  Willie  is  doing 
and  to  make  him  stop  it." 

From  the  objects  of  thought  of  which  one  is  aware  as  re- 
lated primarily  to  each  other  *  objects  of  will,  like  objects 
of  emotion,  are  sluirply  distinguished  in  that  lliey  are 
immediately  realized  as  related  to  the  self.  In  truth,  the 
assert  iveness  of  will  imj)lies  the  subordinate  relation  of  objects, 
personal  and  impersonal,  to  me,  the  willing  self.  These 
future  objects  of  will  are  called  ends  and  must  be  further 
discussed. 

The  end  of  will  is,  in  the  first  place,  real ;  that  is  to  say, 
what  I  will,  I  always  will  to  be  real.  Whether  it  be  the  will 
to  make  my  moorings,  or  to  fit  together  the  pieces  of  a  picture 
jjuzzle,  or  to  resist  a  temptation  to  drive  a  sharp  bargain,  the 
end  of  mv  will  is  always  regarded  as  a  real  occurrence,  in  the 
sense  that  I  will  it  to  be  real.  This  is,  indeed,  the  distinction 
between  the  object  of  my  will  and  the  object  of  my  wish. 
The  wish  no  less  than  the  volition  is  directed  toward  a  future 
object,  but  whereas  I  may  wish  for  a  fairy  godmother  or  for  a 
canal-boat  in  Mars,  the  ends  of  my  will  never  seem  to  me  to  be 
unattainable.  Another  obvious  character  of  the  end  is  pre- 
cisely its  temporal  relation,  its  futurity.  A  moment  is  that 
which-is-linked-in-two-directions,  with  its  past  and  with  its 
future.  From  both  past  and  i)rescnt  the  future  moment  is, 
however,  distinguished  by  a  lack  of  the  irrevocableness  which 
attaches  to  past  and  to  present.  Past  and  present  are  beyond 
change,  whereas  the  future  appears  to  be  undetermined. 

The  object  of  will  is  realized,  fmally,  as  in  a  way  dej)endcnt 
on  the  willing.     It  is,  to  be  sure,  an  open  question  whether 
there  is  justification  for  this  conviction  that  the  end  is  in  any 
*  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  p.  134. 


2  20  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

sense  dependent  on  the  volition;  but  unquestionably  the 
object  of  will  is  so  regarded  and  is  thus,  as  will  appear,  dis- 
tinguished from  the  object  of  belief.* 

b.    Will   as   Anticipatory   Consciousness 
'  The  Feeling  of  Realness ' 

Roughly  parallel  with  the  study  of  the  objects  of  will  is  the 
structural  analysis  —  an  analysis  of  will  conceived  without 
necessary  or  explicit  reference  to  the  subject-self.  We  are 
entering  now  upon  a  famous  battle-ground  of  psychology. 
Some  psychologists  have  held  that  there  is  a  specific  elemental 
consciousness  characteristic  of  will;  others  teach  that  will  is 
analyzable  into  a  complex  of  elements  mainly  sensational.^  f 
In  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  this  book,  neither  view  is 
justified.  To  begin  with  the  doctrine  of  the  sensationalists : 
they  teach  that  will  consists  simply  and  entirely  in  a  mass  of 
sensation,  including  always  the  sensational  consciousness  of 
bodily  movement.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  in  rowing  1 
will  to  feather  my  oar.  According  to  the  sensationalists,  my  will 
consists  in  (i)  the  sensational  consciousness  of  the  slight  and 
mainly  unnoticed  movements  which,  instinctively,  I  actually 
make  during  volition,  and  (2)  the  sensational  consciousness 
which  constitutes  the  image  preceding  the  deliberate  voluntary 
movements  of  my  rowing.  This  antecedent  image  may  be 
either  of  the  movement  to  be  executed  in  feathering  the  oar, 
or  of  the  way  in  which  the  oar  will  look  when  feathered. 
Even  in  inner  volition,  the  sensationalists  teach,  —  in  the 
effort,  for  example,  to  solve  the  problem  or  to  remember  the 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XIII.,  p.  236. 

t  These  Arabic  numerals,  throughout  this  chapter,  refer  to  the  numbered 
divisions  (§§)  of  the  Appendix,  Section  XII. 


Will  as  Aniicipaiory  Coii.sriotisiicss  221 

forgotten  date,  —  one  is  apt  to  wrinkle  one's  forehead,  to 
clench  one's  fingers,  and  to  hold  one's  breath;  and  volition 
is  simply  the  sensational  consciousness  of  these  movements. 
Now  it  doubtless  is  true  that  the  willing  consciousness  includes 
these  sensations  of  movement ;  but  there  is  a  conclusive  objec- 
tion to  the  view  that  volition  consists  wholly  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  such  movements:  experience  furnishes  each  of  us 
with  countless  examples  of  movement  preceded  by  imagina- 
tion of  movement,  which  we  never  think  of  calling  voluntary. 
I  imagine  an  operatic  air,  for  instance,  and  am  surprised  to 
find  myself  humming  it,  or  I  listen  to  an  orchestra,  and  my 
waving  fan  moves  unconsciously  to  the  rhythm  of  the  sym- 
phony. These  are  instances  of  movement  preceded  by  the 
consciousness-of-movement,  yet  nobody  calls  the  antecedent 
images  —  of  operatic  air  or  of  musical  rhythm  —  volitions; 
and  one  names  the  movements  impulsive,  not  voluntary.* 
But  this  admitted  difference  between  impulse  and  volition 
would  be  impossible  if  volition  were  an  image  constituted  by 
purely  sensational  consciousness. 

The  discovery  that  volition  contains  unsensational  elements 
has  led  to  the  assumption  of  a  special  volitional,  or  'conative' 
element.  But  the  analysis  which  follows,  of  volition,  will 
show  no  trace  of  any  such  irreducible  constituent;.  Roughly 
stated,  volition  differs  (structurally  analyzed)  from  the  mere 
antecedent  imagination  in  that  it  includes  a  certain  realized 
*anticipatoriness.'  This  does  not  mean  that  volition  is  a  con- 
sciousness later  realized  as  having  been  anticij)atory :  rather 
the  anticipatoriness  is  part  of  the  volition.  The  term  'antici- 
patoriness'  is  used  to  indicate  a  complex  experience  including 
at  least  three  factors:    (i)   the  consciousness  of  realness; 

*  Cf.  Cliajitcr  v.,  p.  90. 


222  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

(2)  Ihc  consciousness  of  the  future;  and  (3)  an  experience  of 
linkage  or  connectedness  —  the  consciousness  of  the  depend- 
ence of  the  end  u]:)on  the  voHtion.  Obviously  these  three 
sorts  of  unsensational  experience  correspond  exactly  with  the 
relations,  just  discussed,  of  the  willed  object.  Thus,  the 
volition  to  feather  my  oar  includes  not  only  sensational  con- 
sciousness, perceptual  and  imagined,  of  movement,  but  dis- 
tinctive unsensational  experiences,  describable  only  as  the 
consciousness  of  realness,  of  futurity,  and  of  the  dependence 
of  future  end  on  present  volition.  These  experiences,  as  must 
constantly  be  reiterated,  are  actual  psychical  ingredients,  as 
it  were,  of  volition  —  as  unmistakable  as  the  sensations  of 
movement,  of  color,  or  of  sound.  Since  they  are  elemental, 
or  nearly  elemental,  they  cannot  be  described  any  more  than 
sensational  elements  can  be  described ;  and,  unlike  sensational 
elements,  they  cannot  be  explained  and  classified  by  reference 
to  definite  physical  stimuli  and  to  differentiated  end-organ 
excitation.  But,  like  sensational  elements,  they  can  be  pointed 
out,  or  indicated,  as  indeed  we  have  indicated  them,  by  refer- 
ence to  their  objects.  For  example,  just  as  one  may  indicate 
to  a  foreigner  the  meaning  of  the  word  'red'  by  saying  that 
red  is  the  visual  consciousness  which  one  has  in  looking  at 
strawberries  and  at  tomatoes,  so  one  may  indicate  the  meaning 
of  the  'feeling  of  realness'  if  one  say  that  it  distinguishes  the 
volition  from  the  wish  to  ride  a  bicycle ;  one  may  designate  the 
consciousness  of  futurity  as  part  of  the  essential  distinction 
between  my  consciousness  of  this  August  day  and  my  con- 
sciousness of  a  similar  day  next  summer;  and,  finally,  one 
may  refer  to  the  consciousness  of  the  dependence  of  end  on 
volition  as  that  which  marks  off  my  will  that  my  chauffeur 
shall  observe  speed  regulations  from  the  belief  that  he  will 
observe  them. 


The  Forms  of  Will  223 

Of  these  three  structural  factors  of  the  '  feeh'ng  of 
anticij)at()riness,'  two  —  the  consciousness  of  the  dependence 
of  end  on  volition,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  future — arc 
relational  experiences.*  The  third  —  the  feeling  of  real- 
ness  —  is  rather  to  be  grouped  with  elemental  attention 
and  with  the  affections,  the  feelings  of  pleasantness  and 
of  unpleasantness,  as  an  attributive  clement.  Like  these 
(and  unlike  the  sensational  elements)  it  is  not  always  present 
in  our  consciousness  —  in  other  words,  we  may  be  conscious 
of  objects  without  regarding  them  as  either  real  or  unreal; 
and,  like  the  attributive  but  unlike  the  relational  elements, 
the  feeling  of  realness  is  always  fused  with  another  element 
or  with  other  elements  of  any  order,  f 

II.   The  Forms  of  Will 

In  the  more  detailed  study  of  the  different  forms  of  will 
we  shall  be  guided  by  the  following  scheme:  — 

I.    Will  to  Act  (Outer  Volition). 
a.  Simple 

(i)  With  resident  end. 

(2)  With  remote  end. 
h.  Choice 

(i)  Without  elTort.t 

(2)  With  effort.! 

II.  Will  to  Think  (Inner  Volition). 
a.  Simple. 
h.  Choice 

(i)  Without  effort. 

(2)  With  effort. 

*  Cf.  Chapter  VIII.,  pp.  127  ff. ;  and  Appendix,  Section  TIT.,  §  34;  and 
Section  VIII.,  §  2. 

t  Cf.  Chapter  VI.,  p.  04;   Chapter  XI.,  p.  172;   .-kppendi.x,  Section  III., 

§  34- 

I  With  resident  or  with  remote  end. 


224  ^   First  Book  in  Psychology 

This  outline,  it  will  be  observed,  concerns  itself  only  with 
volition  directed  to  the  future,  making  no  attempt  to  clas- 
sify the  delicately  varying  non-temporal  relations  of  self  to 
other  selves  —  to  distinguish,  for  example,  imperiousness 
from  aggression,  or  mere  opposition  from  inventiveness.* 
The  outline  is  based  on  the  distinction  of  the  will  to  act,  or 
outer  volition,  from  the  will  to  think,  or  inner  volition,  —  on 
the  distinction,  for  example,  of  the  volition  to  sign  a  check, 
or  to  fire  a  gun  or  to  make  an  electric  contact,  from  the  volition 
to  attend  to  the  elusive  analogy,  to  remember  the  forgotten 
name,  or  to  think  out  the  unsolved  problem. 

a.    Outer  and  Inner  Volition  (Will) 

Outer  volition,  or  the  will  to  act,  may  have  as  object  either 
a  bodily  movement  or  a  result  of  movement.  In  the  expres- 
sion of  James,  it  may  have  either  a  'resident'  or  a 'remote' 
end.  It  is  thus  a  consciousness  of  straining  muscle  or  of 
moving  hand,  or  else  a  consciousness  of  the  effect  of  these 
movements,  of  the  note  to  be  sounded,  the  button  to  be 
fastened,  or  the  outline  to  be  drawn.  This  consciousness  of 
the  remote  end  may  be  visual,  auditory,  or,  in  fact,  of  any 
sense-type  whatever.  Such  a  consciousness  of  the  remote 
end  is  followed  by  movements;  but  the  movements  are 
involuntary,  though  the  consciousness  is  volitional,  because 
the  image  which  precedes  them  is  an  imagination  of  result, 
not  of  movement.  A  man  wills,  for  example,  to  reach  the 
railway  station,  and  involuntarily  he  breaks  into  a  run 
toward  it;  he  has  a  visual  consciousness  of  the  platform, 
which  means  that  a  centre  in  his  occipital  lobe  is  excited; 
this  excitation  spreads  along  neurones  which  lead  to  the  Ro- 

*  Cf.  ChapUr  XIV.,  pp.  252  ff. 


Outer  and  Inner  Volition  225 

landic  centres  of  leg-muscle  activity,  and  by  the  excitation  of 
these  centres  his  movements  of  running  are  excited.  He  is 
conscious  of  the  running,  but  only  after  it  has  begun,  and  he 
is  even  unconscious  of  some  of  the  leg-contractions  involved 
in  the  running.  In  other  words,  he  actively  relates  himself 
to  the  railroad  station,  not  to  his  leg-muscles,  and  the  move- 
ments follow  as  rellexes,  without  being  specifically  willed.* 

Twa  corollaries  about  outer  volition  are  of  such  im- 
portance ihal  they  must  receive  sj)ecial  emphasis.  The 
volition,  in  the  first^place,  though  called  outer  volition,  is 
named  from.. the  anticipated  end,  not  from  any  perceivable 
resiLlt ;  that  is,  it  occurs  quite  independently  of  any  external 
result.  The  fact  that  I  am  prevented,  by  bodily  inca- 
pacity or  by  external  circumstance,  from  carrying  out  my 
purpose,  does  not  alter  the  volitional  nature  of  the  conscious- 
ness itself.  The  volition  is,  in  other  words,  not  an  external 
event,  but  rather  the  anticipation  of  an  outer  event  (of  an  act 
or  of  its  result),  including  the  feeling  of  anticijjation,  the 
consciousness  of  the  necessary  connection  of  this  definite 
experience  with  a  future  real  event.  The  physiological 
phenomenon  which  follows  on  volition  certainly  is  the  exci- 
tation of  outgoing  motor  neurones.  But  this  nervous  im- 
pulse may  exhaust  itself  before  the  contraction  of  any  muscles 
occurs;  or  the  contraction  may  indeed  take  place,  but 
insufTicienlly ;  or,  fmally,  my  successful  action  may  miss  the 
needed  support  of  other  actions.  I  may  address  the  ball 
with  inilnite  pains,  but  to])  it  ingloriously ;  or  I  may  throw 
the  tiller  hard  over,  but  fail  to  bring  my  boat  into  the  wind. 
In  every  case,  whatever  the  reason  of  external  failure,  outer 

*  The  student  is  ad  vised  to  read  James,  "Psychology,  Briefer  Course," 
Chapter  XXVI.,  pp.  415-422. 
Q 


226  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

will,  or  volition,  remains  what  it  is  by  virtue  of  its  inherent 
nature. 

The  second  of  these  corollaries  of  the  doctrine  of  outer 
volition  is  the  following:  movfiioents  conditioned,  or. 
regularly  preceded,  by  consciousness  are  not  of  necessity 
voluritary  movements.  Every  conscious  experience,  sen- 
sational, affective,  or  relational,  as  well  as  volitional,  stimu- 
lates motor  reaction;  but  such  stimulation  is  volition  only 
when  it  includes  anticipation  in  the  sense  already  explained. 
As  mere  involuntary  stimulus  to  action,  every  percept,  emo- 
tion, or  relational  experience  may  be  termed  an  impulse.*- 
(A  practically  useful  application  may  be  made,  by  way  of 
digression,  from  the  observation  that  actions  follow  normally 
from  impulses  as  well  as  from  volitions  —  in  other  words, 
that  actions  and  bodily  conditions  and  mental  states  are 
likely  to  follow  on  the  vivid  consciousness  of  them.  For,  if 
this  is  true,  it  is  evident  that  one's  volitions  should  be  positive 
rather  than  negative.  To  say  to  oneself,  "I  will  not  run 
my  bicycle  into  that  tree"  is  to  cherish  an  image  that  is 
only  too  likely  to  prove  an  impulse  to  action  long  before  the 
tardier  volition  can  inhibit  it.  So,  to  resolve  that  "I  will  not 
lie  awake  to-night,"  or  "I  will  not  fill  my  mind  with  these 
corrupting  thoughts,"  is  to  occupy  oneself  with  the  very 
experience  which  should  be  avoided.  The  most  effective 
volition  is  always  therefore  affirmative:  one  wills  to  keep  to 
the  road,  not  to  avoid  the  tree;  to  breathe  deeply  and  sleepily, 
not  to  stop  lying  awake ;  to  "  think  on  .  .  things  .  .  . 
honest,  .  .  .  just  .  .  .  and  pure, "  not  to  avoid  evil  thoughts). 

These  illustrations  have  suggested  the  contrast  between 
inner  and  outer  volition.     Inner  volition  may,  however,  be 

*  Cf.  Chapter  V.,  p.  90. 


The  Forms  of  Will  227 

passed  without  detailed  discussion.  Like  outer  xolition,  it 
is  anticijjation  of  an  end  wliich  is  real.  The  end  is,  how- 
ever, in  this  case,  another  consciousness,  not  a  physical  action 
or  situation,  but  a  psychic  experience.  The  volition  to  re- 
member the  forgotten  name  or  date,  to  guess  the  riddle,  and 
to  understand  the  working  of  the  intricate  mechanism,  arc 
examples  of  what  is  meant  by  inner  volitions.  Compared 
with  outer  volitions,  it  is  evident  that  they  do  not  so  closely 
resemble  their  ends  (or  objects).  The  volitional  image  of 
an  act  may  be,  in  detail,  like  the  act  as  performed;  but 
the  object  of  inner  volition  is  itself  consciousness,  and  to 
have  the  anticipatory  consciousness  of  a  consciousness,  pre- 
cisely similar  yet  not  identical,  is  impossible.  Inner  volition 
may,  therefore,  be  defined  as  anticipatory  consciousness,  in- 
cluding the  idea  of  linkage  with  an  end,  and  normally  fol- 
lowed by  partially  similar  experience,  not  by  action. 

h.   Simple  Volition  and  Choice 

Within  each  of  the  classes,  outer  and  inner  will,  there  is 
another  fundamental  distinction :  the  distinction  between 
simple  will  and  choice,  that  is,  will  after  deliberation.  De- 
liberation is  a  conflict  of  will  with  will,  an  alternation  in  the 
tendencies  or  directions  of  self-assertiveness.  It  is  a  sort  of 
clashing  and  warring  between  my  varying  attitudes  toward 
different  selves  and  things;  a  successive  subordination  to 
myself  now  of  one,  now  of  another,  person  ;  the  will  to  possess 
now  this  object,  now  that,  to  suppress  now  this  inclination 
and  again  this  other.  I  choose,  let  us  say,  to  sail  to  South- 
west Harbor  instead  of  walking  to  Turtle  Lake,  but  my  choice 
is  preceded  by  what  is  called  deliberation,  a  sort  of  mental 
see-saw    of    forest    and    ocean    consciousness:   now   I   hear 


228  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

in  imagination  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the  tree- tops,  but 
its  music  is  drowned  by  that  of  the  water  on  the  keel  of  the 
boat;  again,  I  imagine  the  vivid  brown  of  the  brook  bed 
and  the  patches  of  sunlight  sifting  through  the  interlaced 
boughs  of  the  birch  trees,  but  the  vision  is  blotted  out  by 
that  of  the  mountains  rising  sheer  out  of  Somes's  Sound. 

Imaginings  of  the  accompaniments  and  of  the  results  of 
rival  objects  of  choice  may  play  leading  roles  in  my  delibera- 
tion. If  I  am  deciding  between  a  course  of  violin  lessons 
and  a  stateroom  on  the  Mauretania,  not  merely  the  images 
of  fiddle  and  of  steamer  alternate,  but  the  imagination  of 
myself  as  playing  "Schubert's  Serenade"  will  be  confronted 
by  the  imagination,  let  us  say,  of  Winchester  Cathedral  Close. 
If  I  am  wavering  between  a  set  of  golf  clubs  and  the  new 
Clarendon  Press  translations  of  Aristotle,  the  imagination 
of  a  round  on  the  Myopia  links  may  be  crow^ded  out  by  a 
vision  of  myself  as  reading,  before  my  study  fire,  a  good 
translation  of  the  "  Metaphysics."  This  whole  experience 
of  alternating  imaginations  is  attended  by  feelings  of  per- 
plexity and  unrest,  the  characteristic  discomfort  of  '  making 
up  one's  mind.' 

In  considering  the  different  sorts  of  choice,  we  shall  do 
well  to  follow  the  lead  of  James,  distinguishing  'choices 
without  effort'  from  'choices  with  effort.'*  The  difference 
is  simply  this :  in  the  choice  without  effort,  I  fully  abandon 
one  alternative,  whereas,  in  the  choice  with  effort,  I  choose 
one  alternative  in  full  view  of  the  other.  The  choice  with- 
out effort,  however  prolonged  and  restless  the   deliberation 

*The  student  is  advised  to  read  James,  "Psychology,  Briefer  Course," 
Chapter  XXVI.,  pp.  428-442;  or  "The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  II., 
pp.  528-538. 


Simple   Volition  and  Choice  229 

which  has  preceded,  is  an  easy  choice,  because  at  the  exact 
time  of  making  it  no  other  act  or  result  is  contemplated. 

The  choice  without  effort  usually  conforms  with  our  habits 
of  thought,  inclination,  ajid  action.  I  am  deliberating,  let 
us  suppose,  whether  to  have  the  Bokhara  or  the  Persian 
carpet.  The  Persian  is  more  subdued  in  color,  but  the 
Bokhara  is  silkier  in  texture.  The  Persian  is  larger,  but  the 
Bokhara  follows  more  nearly  the  shape  of  my  room.  So  far 
I  am  undecided,  but  now  I  see  that  the  blue  of  the  Persian 
rug  does  not  tone  with  the  blue  of  my  hangings,  and  at  once, 
quite  without  effort,  I  decide  upon  the  Bokhara.  Or  I  am 
trying  to  decide  whether  or  not  to  buy  this  volume  of 
Swinburne.  The  paper  is  poor  and  the  print  is  fine,  but  the 
price  is  low  and  the  poems  are  complete.  "I  really  must 
have  it,"  I  say  to  myself.  "  But  the  print  is  impossible," 
I  reflect.  My  indecision,  however  prolonged,  is  ended  by 
the  discovery  that  the  book  is  an  unauthorized  American 
reprint.  Now  I  long  since  decided  to  buy  only  authorized 
editions  of  English  books,  and  my  actual  decision,  to  reject 
the  book,  is  made  without  effort,  that  is,  without  even  a 
thought  of  the  advantage  of  the  book. 

When  confronted,  therefore,  w^ith  what  seems  a  new 
decision,  one  wisely  tends  to  consider  its  relation  to  former 
choices,  to  fundamental  inclinations,  and  to  habitual  actions. 
The  result  of  such  a  *  classification,'  as  James  calls  it,  is  usu- 
ally a  decision  without  effort.  An  action,  clearly  realized  as 
essential  to  the  fulfilment  of  a  choice  already  made,  will 
promptly  be  chosen.  The  advantage  of  what  the  older 
psychologists  called  'governing  choices'  is  precisely  this, 
that  they  make  'subordinate  choices'  easy. 

The   choice    with    effort    is    not,    of    necessity,    preceded 


230  A   Firs  I  Book  in   Psychology 

by  longer  or  more  painful  deliberation  (that  is,  vacillating 
consciousness)  than  the  efifortless  choice.  The  essential  dif- 
ference is  simply  this,  that  the  choice  is  made  with  full 
consciousness  of  the  neglected  alternative.  "  Both  alter- 
natives," James  says,  "are  steadily  held  in  view,  and  in  the 
very  act  of  murdering  the  vanished  possibilit}-,  the  chooser 
realizes  how  much  he  is  making  himself  lose."  George 
Eliot  has  suggested  this  experience  in  the  story  of  Romola's 
meeting  with  Sa^'onarola,  as  she  sought  to  escape  from  Tito 
and  from  Florence.  "She  foresaw  thai  she  should  obey 
Savonarola  and  go  back.  His  arresting  \oice  had  brought  a 
new  condition  to  her  life,  which  made  it  seem  impossible  to 
her  that  she  could  go  on  her  way  as  if  she  had  not  heard  it; 
yet  she  shrank  as  one  who  sees  the  path  she  must  take,  but 
sees,  too,  that  the  hot  lava  lies  there ^  * 

The  most  strenuous  deliberations  of  all  these  types  are 
those  of  the  moral  life:  the  fluctuations  between  good  and 
evil,  right  and  wrong,  desire  and  obedience.  Lifelike  de- 
scriptions of  deliberation  are,  for  this  reason,  almost  always 
accounts  of  moral  choices.  Of  this  fact  the  dramatists  and 
the  novelists  give  abundant  illustration;  and  even  on  the 
pages  of  the  moralists  one  may  find  vivid  suggestions  of  the 
warring  of  personal  tendencies  in  dehberation.  "I  see  an- 
other law  in  my  members,"  St.  Paul  exclaims,  "warring 
against  the  law  of  my  mind."  "Clearly  there  is,"  says 
Aristotle,  "besides  Reason,  some  other  natural  principle 
which   fights   with    and   strains   against   it." 

*  Italics  mine. 


The  Bodily  Conditions  and  Cornialcs  of  Will       231 

III.    Thp:  Bodily  Conditions  and  Correlates  oe  Will 

A  statement  concerning  the  neuraj  conditions  and  the 
motor  consequents  and  accompaniments  of  volition  will  con- 
clude this  chapter.  So  far  as  the  neural  conditions  are  con- 
cerned, there  is  little  to  sa_\' :  the  brain  cliani^es,  wliatever  they 
are,  which  condition  the  feeling  of  realness  and  the  relational 
consciousness  of  time,  along  with  the  ever  present  excita- 
tions of  sense-centres,  must  be  the  physiological  conditions 
of  will.  More  significant  is  the  distinction,  already  made, 
of  voluntary  movements,  as  delayed  and  hesitating,  from  the 
impulsive  movements  following  on  perception  and  emotion. 
The  delay  is  especially  marked  in  deliberate  acts;  yet  every 
voluntary  act  (that  is,  every  act  preceded  by  an  anticipatory 
image  of  itself  or  even  of  its  end)  must  be  performed  less 
promptly  than  an  action  excited  mechanically  and  instan- 
taneously without  the  intervening  brain  excitation  corre- 
sponding to  the  anticipatory  imagination. 

The  relation  between  these  volitional  reactions  and  reflex, 
instinctive  reactions  should  be  noted  carefully.  Instinctive 
actions  are  untaught,  and  all  reflex  acts  (whether  instincts  or 
lajjsed  habits)  are  immediate,  whereas  our  volitional  and  our 
thought  reactions  are  always  learned  through  imitation  or 
through  individual  exjjcricnce,  and  are  always  delayed.  Re- 
garded, however,  merely  as  muscular  contractions,  without 
reference  to  their  immediacy,  to  their  orgin,  or  to  the  con- 
sciousness i)receding  and  accomj)anying  them,  voluntary 
movements  may  be  similar,  as  well  as  dissimilar,  to  purely 
instincti\e  reaitions  in  a  giwn  situation.  Indfcd,  the  simple 
movements  of  which  a  comi)licated  xoluntary  mo\ement  is 
composed  —  the   bending,  grasping,  pulling,  for  example  — 


232  A  Fir  si  Book  in  Psychology 

cannot  dilTcr  from  these  same  movements  performed  as 
mere  reflexes.  And  one  may  also  definitely  will  to  perform 
an  originally  instinctive  act,  in  a  word,  one  may  supplement 
instinct  by  will.  It  follows  that  voluntary,  like  instinctive, 
emotional  reactions  of  the  egoistic  type  may  be  classified  as 
reactions  of  withdrawal  or  of  advance  (here,  of  aggression). 
It  has  been  pointed  out  already,  and  the  fact  will  later  be 
reemphasized,  that  voluntary  reactions  of  all  sorts  tend  to 
be  replaced  by  immediate  and  habitual  reflexes.  In  truth, 
the  development  of  the  life  of  consciousness  always  tends  to 
suppress  the  direct  motor  volitions.  Almost  all  bodily  move- 
ments are  better  executed  when  our  aim  is  directed  toward 
the  result  to  which  they  lead,  that  is  to  say,  when  the  end 
of  volition  is  an  'outer  object,'  not  an  imaged  bodily  move- 
ment. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

FAITH   AND   BELIEF 

I.    The  Nature  and  Forms  or  Faith  and   Belief 

Faith,  as  distinct  from  will,  is  an  adopting  or  acknowledg- 
ing, not  an  imperious,  demanding  phase  of  consciousness;  it 
lays  emphasis  not  on  myself  but  on  the  'other  self.'  In  the 
attitude  of  will,  I  subordinate  others  to  myself;  in  that  of 
faith  or  loyalty,  I  submit  myself  to  others.  In  the  mood  of 
will,  I  am  'captain  of  my  soul';  in  my  faith,  I  acknowledge 
another  leader.  Yet  faith,  like  will,  is  an  assertive,  not  a 
receptive,  attitude  of  one  self  to  other  selves.  It  is  no  emo- 
tional sinking  beneath  the  force  of  opponent  or  environment, 
but  a  spontaneous,  self-initiated  experience,  the  identification 
of  oneself  with  another's  cause,  the  throwing  oneself  into 
another's  life,  or  the  espousal  of  another's  interests.  In  the 
words  of  Edmund  Gosse :  "  No  one  who  is  acquainted  with 
the  human  heart  will  mistake  this  attitude  for  weakness  of 
purpose;"  it  is  not  "poverty  of  will"  it  is  "abnegation." 
More  accurately,  such  a  relation  is  a  supreme  instance  of 
faith  ;  and  men  of  faith  have  always,  like  the  heroes  of  Hebrew 
history,  "subdued  kingdoms,  wrought  righteousness,  obtained 
promises,  stoj)ped  the  mouths  of  lions,"  and  this,  through 
the  active  identification  of  themselves  with  great  selves,  great 
ideals,  and  great  theories.  Primarily,  this  attitude  of  ac- 
knowledgment and  adoption  is  a  relation  to  other  selves:  in 
other  words,  the  object  of  faith  is  a  self  t)r  selves.     By  belief, 

233 


-'34  -'^    hirst  Book  in  Psychology 

on  the  other  hand,  is  meant  the  assertive  attitude  of  a  self 
to  an  impersonal  objeet.  A  man  has  faith  in  his  father,  his 
physician,  his  fellow  student,  liis  God;  he  believes  the 
necessity  of  tariff  reform,  the  doctrine  that  acquired 
characters  are  inherited,  the  dogma  of  the  inspiration  of 
the  Bible. 

Evidently  faith  and  belief,  like  will,  are  assertive  and  doubly 
individualizing  experiences,  with  personal  or  impersonal, 
external  or  non-external,  'real'  objects.  Structurally  ana- 
lyzed, faith  and  belief  —  still  like  will  —  include  the  ele- 
mental consciousness  of  reality.*  So  much  for  the  likeness: 
faith  and  belief  differ  from  will  mainly  in  that  each  is,  as  has 
appeared,  an  altruistic,  not  an  egoistic,  an  adoptive,  not  an 
imperious,  attitude  toward  other  selves  or  ideals  or  facts.  A 
second  difference  is  the  following:  the  object  of  belief  is 
always  an  object  congruent  with  its  environment.  That 
which  seems  real  to  me  at  the  same  time  seems  harmonious. 
It  follows  that  the  objects  of  belief  are  of  the  most  varied  sort, 
but  that  they  all  agree  in  being  regarded  as  congruent.  When 
objects  of  our  perception  are  called  'real,'  by  contrast  with 
objects  of  our  imagination,  they  are  known  as  harmonious 
with  each  other:  the  meeting-house  which  I  see  accords 
perfectly  with  its  surroundings,  the  mosque  which  I  imagine 
is  incongruent  with  every  architectural  feature  of  this  New 
England  town ;  the  electric  bells  which  I  hear  are  congruent 
with  the  sounds  of  the  city  streets,  the  strains  of  the 
"  Pastoral  Symphony  "  which  I  imagine  are  unrelated  with  . 
my  entire  surroundings. 

From  this  it  follows  that  a  given  object  of  consciousness 
may  seem  from  one  point  of  view  real  and  from  another  un- 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XII.,  p.  222. 


Faitli  ami  Belief  235 

real,  according  as  il  is  comparccl  with  one  set  of  facts  or  w  ith 
another.  James  has  briUianlly  ilkistratcd  this  truth  under 
the  heading,  "The  >hiny  Worlds  of  Reality,"  and  has  sug- 
gested seven  such  worlds,*  ineludini^  the  worlds  of  sense,  of 
science,  of  abstract  truths,  of  fiction,  and  of  individual 
opinion.  The  motion  of  the  sun,  which  is  real  in  the  sense- 
world,  is  thus  unreal  in  the  world  of  science;  Goethe's 
Lotte,  though  unreal  in  the  sense-world,  is  so  real  in  the 
world  of  poetry  that  we  sharply  contrast  with  her  Thack- 
eray's parodied  Charlotte,  whom  we  unhesitatingly  pro- 
nounce unreal.  And  these  distinctions  mean  merely  that 
the  motion  of  the  sun  is  a  [)henomenon,  congruent  with  the 
facts  of  our  every-day  observation,  —  sunrises,  moons,  and 
twilights,  —  but  contradicted  by  the  Copernican  conception 
of  our  earth  and  the  other  planets  of  our  system,  in  revolu- 
tion about  the  sun;  and  that  the  romantic  Lotte  is  a  figure 
congruent  with  the  life  and  environment  of  Goethe's  W'cr- 
ther,  whereas  Thackeray's  prosaic  Charlotte  is  utterly  un- 
related to  the  Werther  world  of  Goethe's  creation.  Faith 
and  belief  are  thus  distinguished  both  by  the  feeling  of  real- 
ness  and  by  the  feeling  of  congruence;  and  the  objects  of 
faith  and  belief  are  harmonious  with  their  environment. 

Besides  this  fundamental  difference  between  faith  and  be- 
lief, on  the  one  hand,  and  all  forms  of  will,  two  distinctions, 
must  be  named  between  the  ends,  or  objects,  of  will  as  directed 
toward  the  future,  and  the  objects  of  belief.  These  objects 
of  belief,  in  the  lirst  j^lace,  are  not  necessarily  future.  One 
may  believe  a  past  or  a  present  as  well  as  a  futuie  event,  as 
when,  for  example,  one  believes  that  Kleisthenes  reformed 

*  The  sturicnt  is  advised  to  read  James,  "The  Priiuiples  of  Psychology," 
II.,  Chapter  XXI.,  pp.  2gi  t'f. 


236  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

the  constitution  of  Athens,  or  that  some  one  is  at  the  front 
door.  In  the  second  place,  the  object  of  beUef  is  not  regarded 
as  in  any  sense  dependent  on  the  belief.  My  belief  that  my 
new  fur-lined  cloak  will  be  sent  home  to  me  next  Thursday 
differs  from  my  volition  that  it  shall  be  sent  home,  because  the 
belief  lacks,  what  the  volition  has,  a  sense  that  this  antecedent 
consciousness  has  a  certain  bearing  on  the  result  which  will 
follow.  In  terms,  therefore,  of  structural  analysis,  belief 
differs  from  will  not  only  because  the  consciousness  of  the 
future  is  unessential  to  belief,  but  because  belief  includes  a 
relational  consciousness  of  harmony  or  congruence,  and  lacks 
the  relational  consciousness  of  the  dependence  of  future  on 
present. 

Brief  mention  only  need  be  made  of  the  physiological  con- 
ditions and  of  the  bodily  reactions  characteristic  of  faith  and 
belief.  Of  the  brain  conditions  little  need  be  added  to  what 
was  said  of  the  neural  conditions  of  will.*  The  bodily 
movements  which  accompany  faith  or  belief  resemble  those 
which  follow  on  will  in  being  hesitating,  or  deliberative,  but 
differ  from  them  in  a  marked  way.  For,  whereas  will-re- 
actions are  movements  of  opposition,  of  aggression,  and  of 
withdrawal,  the  reactions  characteristic  of  trust  and  of  belief 
are  movements  exclusively  of  approach:  they  are  imitative 
and  cooperating  reactions. 

Certain  corollaries  of  the  doctrine  of  faith  or  belief,  as 
characterized  by  the  feeling  of  realness,  are  so  important  that 
they  demand  consideration.  It  should  be  noted,  in  the  first 
place,  that  side  by  side  with  the  experience  of  realness  grows 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XII.,  p.  231. 


FailJi  and  Belief  237 

up  what  may  be  called  a  feeling  of  not-rcalness.  This  I-^ 
evidently  a  c()mj)osite  of  the  consciousness  of  oi)[)osition  wiili 
the  consciousness  of  reality.  Neither  the  consciousness  of 
realness  nor  that  of  unrealness  can  be  a  first  consciousness 
in  any  life,  because  both  are  learned  through  experience  of 
such  contrasts  as  that  between  ])erception  and  imagination, 
fulfilment  and  hope,  execution,  and  volition,  in  illustration 
of  the  fact  that  the  feeling  of  unrealness  is  not  a  primitive 
experience,  James  supposes  *  'a  new-born  mind'  for  whom 
experience  has  begun,  'in  the  form  of  a  visual  impression  of 
a  hallucinatory  candle.'  "  What  possible  sense,"  he  asks, 
"for  that  mind  would  a  suspicion  have  that  the  candle  was  not 
real?  .  .  .  When  we,  the  onlooking  psychologists,  say  that 
it  is  unreal,  we  mean  something  quite  definite,  viz.  that  there 
is  a  world  known  to  us  which  is  real,  and  to  which  we  per- 
ceive that  the  candle  does  not  belong.  .  .  .  By  hypothesis, 
however,  the  mind  which  sees  the  candle  can  spin  no  such 
considerations  about  it,  for  of  other  facts,  actual  or  possible, 
it  has  no  inkling  whatever."  From  this  correct  doctrine 
that  the  naive  mind  has  no  inkling  of  an  unreality,  James  and 
Baldwin  and  other  psychologists  draw,  however,  the  errone- 
ous conclusion  that  the  undisputed,  uncontradicted  objects 
of  the  primitive  consciousness  are  felt  as  real.  The  "new- 
born mind,"  James  says,  "cannot  helj)  believing  the  candle 
real,"  because  "the  primitive  impulse  is  to  alTirm  the  reality 
of  all  that  is  conceived."  But  the  proof  that  no  object  is 
primitively  regarded  as  unreal  falls  far  short  of  a  proof  that 
it  is  thought  of  as  real;  and,  on  the  contrary,  our  observation 
of  ordinary  experience  shows  us  many  instances  in  which  we 
are  conscious  neither  of  realness  nor  of  unrealness.  When  I 
*0/>.  cii.,  Vol.  ir.,  p.  287. 


238  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

am  really  absorbed  in  the  adventures,  for  example,  of  ISIonte 
Cristo  or  in  a  Giovanni  Bellini  "Holy  Family,"  I  am  not  say- 
ing to  myself,  "this  event  is  not  historical,"  or  "this  is  a  por- 
trait figure."  In  a  word,  I  am  conscious  neither  of  realness 
nor  of  unrealness,  but  exclusively  of  stirring  e\'ent  and  of 
glowing  color. 

The  second  of  the  corollaries  from  the  doctrine  of  this 
section  is  the  following:  Though  faith  and  belief  certainly 
include  the  consciousness  of  reality,  such  consciousness  may 
be  so  vague  and  unemphasized  as  to  be  truly  an  unimportant 
constituent  of  the  total  belief  or  faith.  This  fact  is  of  high 
practical  importance,  for  the  doctrine  of  faith  is  most  often 
obscured  by  confusing  it  with  the  bare  consciousness  of  reality. 
A  certain  consciousness  of  reality  is,  it  is  true,  essential  to 
the  active  attitude  toward  selves  and  toward  things,  that  is, 
essential  both  to  faith  and  to  will.  But  the  mere  awareness 
of  reality  is  a  very  subordinate  part  of  the  experience  of  faith 
or  belief.  Faith  is  always  an  active,  personal  attitude  tow- 
ard another  self;  belief  is  always  an  active,  personal  attitude 
toward  things,  events,  or  truths;  and  both  faith  and  belief 
involve,  but  are  not  exhausted  by,  a  consciousness  of  the  real- 
ness of  selves  or  of  things. 

The  relation  between  faith  and  the  mere  awareness  of 
reality  is  most  often  discussed  on  an  ethical  basis.  We  re- 
ceive, from  great  teachers  of  righteousness,  fervid  exhorta- 
tions to  have  faith  and  to  believe.  But  still  other  teachers 
warn  us,  as  solemnly,  that  it  is  alike  irrational  and  immoral 
to  proclaim  an  obligation  to  hold  opinions.  These  moralists 
insist  that  it  is  meaningless  to  assert  the  ethical  superiority 
of  one  opinion  to  another,  and  they  teach  that  the  alleged  duty, 
to  hold  this  or  that  view  of  reality,  is  in  opposition  to  the  only 


Faith  and  Belief  239 

intellectual  oMii^ation,  uns\vcr\-ing  honc^t\■  in  investigation. 
This  revolt  against  the  "duty  to  believe"  would  he  justified, 
if  it  did  not  j)resui:)i)ose  a  wrong  interjiretation  of  the  exhorta- 
tions to  faith.  The  truth  is,  that  the  great  moral  teachers 
always  regard  faith  as  j)ersonal  acknowledgment  of  great 
selves  and  of  great  personal  ideals.  Such  acknowledgment 
may  involve,  it  is  true,  a  certain  consciousness  of  reality,  and 
is  never  possible  toward  self  or  toward  cause  which  is  held  as 
definitely  unreal.  On  the  other  hand,  such  a  personal  ac- 
knowledgment does  not  presuppose  any  reasoned  conclusion 
or  any  philosophic  conviction  about  reality,  and  may  even  exist 
along  with  an  unemphasized  or  a  fluctuating  consciousness  of 
the  reality  of  the  self  whom  one  follows  or  of  the  cause 
which  one  espouses.  The  (kity  to  have  faith  is  always,  there- 
fore, the  obligation  lo  identify  oneself  with  the  persons  or  the 
causes  which  seem  the  highest;  and  the  exhortation  to  faith 
is  always,  on  the  lips  of  the  great  teachers,  an  incentive  to 
loyalty.  Thus,  the  New  Testament  commands  to  believe 
emphasize,  always,  the  need  or  the  duty  of  an  affirming,  con- 
senting, personal  attitude  toward  a  divine  self,  and  do  not  re- 
quire that  one  hold  an  opinion  about  him;  and  the  great 
creeds,  also,  are  expressions  of  a  ])ersonal  relation.  For, 
from  this  j^oint  of  view,  a  conception  of  the  duty  of  faith 
may  clearly  be  held,  since  personal  relations,  not  convictions 
of  reality,  are  the  objects  of  obligation,  and  since  faith  is  the 
assertive,  adoptive  attitude  of  one  self  toward  another. 

Faith  and  belief  are  thus  described  as  assertive,  doubly 
individualizing  ado})tive  attitudes  to  objects  of  any  sort,  and  as 
distinguished  by  the  elemental  consciousness  of  realness  and 
by  that  of  congruence.     An  attempt  to  classify  will  show  that, 


240  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

like  volition,  faith  and  belief  may  be  inner  or  outer,  that  is, 
may  consist  in  the  acknowledgment  of  ideal  or  of  deed,  and 
may  be  deliberative  or  simple.  Deliberative  struggles  of 
faith  with  faith,  of  belief  with  belief,  are  universal  experi- 
ences. Antigone's  faithful  love  for  her  l.-trother  in  opposi- 
tion to  her  obedience  to  the  state,  the  loyalty  of  the  Soeur 
Simplicc  to  Jean  Valjean  battling  with  her  devotion  to  the 
ideal  of  truth,  Robert  Lee's  allegiance  to  his  state  in 
conflict  with  his  love  for  the  Union,  —  are  classic  examples 
of  an  experience  to  which  nobody  is  a  stranger.  Midway 
between  this  form  of  deliberation  and  the  purely  voluntary 
conflict  of  will  with  will  —  the  alternating  impulses  to 
subordinate  to  oneself  now  one,  now  another,  person 
or  external  thing  —  are  the  crucial  struggles  between  will 
and  faith.  The  crisis  in  the  life  of  Neoptolemos  was  such 
a  conflict  between  will,  the  impulse  to  crush  Philoctetes  de- 
spoiled of  his  weapons,  and  faith,  the  loyal  acknowledgment  of 
the  rights  of  Philoctetes  and  the  active  adoption  of  his  cause. 
Romola's  deliberation,  also,  is  essentially  the  vibration  be- 
tween these  two  fundamental  tendencies  toward  self-assertion 
and  self-effacement,  toward  the  satisfaction  of  her  own  crav- 
ing for  a  new  life  and  the  acknowledgment  of  a  higher  author- 
ity than  her  own  desire.  Both  these  are  instances  of  an  alter- 
nation, not  between  one  willing  tendency  and  another,  but  a 
fluctuation  between  will  and  faith,  the  egoistic  and  altruistic 
tendencies,  the  imperious  and  the  acknowledging  modes,  the 
decision  to  lose  one's  life  for  another's  sake  or  to  save  it. 

II.    The  Significance  of  Faith  and  of  Will 
Faith    and    will    stand    in    such   close  relation   that   the 
practical  outcome  of  the  study   of  the  two  experiences  is 


The  Significance  of  Faith  and  of  Will  241 

wisely  formulated  in  a  single  section.  Tt  is  certain  that  only 
in  will  and  in  faith  —  in  my  self-assertion  and  in  my  dc\'0- 
tion  —  do  I  come  fully  to  myself;  and  that  only  in  will  and 
in  loyalty,  only  as  assertive,  active  self  —  as  leader  or  as  fol- 
lower —  do  I  influence  my  environment.  Obviously,  therefore, 
these  are  practically  significant  experiences;  and  indeed  all 
other  forms  of  consciousness  —  memory,  reasoning,  and, 
notably,  emotion  —  are  estimated  always  not  for  themselves 
merely,  but  as  material  or  incentive  for  self-assertion  and  for 
loyalty.  No  quickness  of  discernment,  no  power  of  thought, 
no  depth  of  emotion,  can  ever  take  the  place  of  what  may 
be  named  energy  of  spirit.  He  who  lacks  it  may  well  echo 
the  cry,  "  Ce  n'est  pas  de  conseils,  c'est  de  force  et  de  fecon- 
dite  spirituelle  que  j'ai  besoin." 

The  evident  outcome  of  this  conviction  of  the  supreme  value . 
of  activity  is  to  stimulate  me  to  cherish  and  to  foster  my  will 
and  my  loyalty.  This  statement  must  at  once  be  modified 
by  two  important  observations.  To  begin  with:  assertivc- 
ness,  in  either  of  its  forms,  is  out  of  place  in  some  situations. 
There  are  times  when  I  have  no  responsibility  for  action, 
when  I  would  better  contemplate  or  obser\'e  or  enjoy  with 
utter  receptivity,  abandoning  myself  to  stimulations  from  my 
environment.  In  the  second  place,  even  in  my  active  rela- 
tions, I  should  aim  to  reduce  the  number  of  my  specific 
volitions  and  acknowledgments.  Will  and  faith  are,  essen- 
tially, the  active  attitude,  imperious  or  adopti\'e,  of  the  self  as 
a  whole  to  other  self  or  selves,  and  to  inclusi\'c  interests  or 
to  complete  situations.  Therefore  will  and  faith  are  not  most 
effectively  directed  to  single  acts  or  thoughts;  but  these 
result,  with  greater  precision  and  with  distinct  economy  of 
consciousness,  not  from  the  specitic  volition,  but  rather  from  the 

R 


242  A   First  Book  hi  Psychology 

underlying  will  and  from  the  wide-reaching  loyalty  or  belief. 
It  is  true  that  I  am  not  always  capable  of  these  inclusive  and 
fundamental  volitions  and  loyalties.  While  I  am  training 
myself  to  unaccustomed  habits  of  mind  or  of  body,  and  when- 
ever will  and  faith  are  made  difficult  by  opposing  inclinations 
or  desires,  then  I  must  make  frequent  special  volitions  and 
must  espouse  near  and  not  far-away  ideals.  I  must  learn  to 
dance,  for  example,  by  practising  steps,  that  is,  I  must  will 
the  special  movement  of  the  foot  and  bend  of  the  body.  And 
the  most  effective  way  to  make  myself  study  an  uninteresting 
subject  may  wtU  be  to  will  the  mechanical  operations  of  ris- 
ing, getting  and  opening  my  book,  following  with  eyes  and 
with  voice  the  lines  and  paragraphs.  But  these  detailed  and 
repeated  volitions  are  characteristic  of  the  will-in-training, 
not  of  the  disciplined  and  educated  will.  When  I  have 
learned  to  dance,  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  direct  my  will  to  the 
accomplishment  of  a  certain  figure,  and  when  I  have  habitu- 
ated myself  to  study,  the  thought  of  the  subject  to  be  mastered 
will  be  followed  mechanically  by  the  movements  involved  in 
reading.  In  a  word,  reactions  once  willed  tend  to  become 
involuntary,  and,  indeed,  bodily  reactions  tend  to  become  un- 
conscious; and  not  only  involuntary  and  unconscious  bodily 
reactions,  but  immediate  and  unwilled  mental  reactions  are 
likely  to  be  more  precise  and  exact  than  those  which  result 
from  specific  volition.  Only  when  we  no  longer  have  to  will 
the  particular  turn  of  the  wrist  or  position  of  the  hand  are 
these  movements  mechanically  accurate;  only  when  we  no 
longer  need  to  bend  to  our  will  the  words  of  poem  or  of 
formula  can  we  put  it  to  adequate  use.  In  technical  terms, 
the  objects  of  our  will  and  of  our  faith  should  be,  as  far  as 
possible,  inclusive  and  'remote,'   and  our  specific  acts  and 


Tlie  Significance  of  FailJi  ami  of  Will  243 

experiences  should  l)e,  as  far  as  may  be,  the  unwilled  means 
lo  these  remoter  ends  and  the  unwilU'd  aids  to  loyalty. 

It  thus  a])|)ears  that  self-development  involves  a  gradual 
reduction  in  the  number  of  our  volitions  and  beliefs.  In  like 
fashion,  deliberation  should  give  place  to  simple  volitions 
and  beliefs.  In  the  beginning,  almost  every  situation  which 
involveseither  will  or  faith  calls  for  deliberation.  There  is  a 
possible  alternative  to  every  action,  and  every  decision  may 
be  debated.  But  unquestionably  the  ideal  is  to  attain  voli- 
tions so  comprehensive  and  beliefs  so  fundamental,  so  far- 
reaching,  that  the  particular  acts  and  conclusions  of  life 
follow  from  them  without  anticipation  or  as  results  of  simple 
volition  and  faith.  The  Rubicon  once  crossed,  Julius 
Caesar  has  no  place  for  further  deliberation;  the  road  to 
Rome  once  taken,  Victor  Emmanuel  need  not  pause  till  the 
breach  is  made  in  the  wall  by  the  Porta  Pia;  his  allegiance 
to  the  party  once  fully  given,  William  Gladstone  has  no  need 
to  debate  this  issue  as  every  new  bill  is  introduced  into  Parlia- 
ment. In  other  words,  when  once  the  governing  purpose  is 
formulated,  when  the  large  allegiance  is  given,  lesser  deci- 
sions become  effortless,  former  deliberations  become  need- 
less; even  simple  volitions,  for  the  most  part,  give  place  to 
unpurposed  conclusions  and  acts.  This  is  the  reason  why 
the  lives  of  great  men  are  always,  relatively  speaking,  simple 
lives.  So  fundamental  and  abiding  are  the  great  choices 
which  they  make,  so  encompassing  and  deejjly  rooted  is 
their  loyalty,  that  they  perform  naturally,  even  mechanically, 
the  trivial  acts  and  conclusions  on  which  lesser  men  deliberate. 

We  have  so  far  spoken  of  will  and  of  faith  as  coordinate 
forms  of  assertiveness  or  self-activity,  setting  aside  the  im- 
portant difference  between  them.     But  it  must  already  have 


244  -^   Fir  si  Book  in   Psychology 

appeared  that  both  —  the  egoistic,  dominating  assertivcness 
of  will  and  the  altruistic,  adoptive  assertion  of  faith  or  belief 
—  are  essential  aspects  of  the  complete  self.  Most  of  us  are 
prone  to  overestimate  the  significance  of  will.  Like  the  little 
boys  in  their  play-regiments,  we  all  want  to  be  officers,  and 
we  extol  leadership  at  the  expense  of  loyalty.  But  self- 
assertion,  though  it  deepens,  cannot  widen,  my  self-realiza- 
tion; imperiousness  and  domination  may  be  relatively  ex- 
ternal attitudes  toward  my  environment.  Only  if  I  adopt 
and  espouse  and  take  into  myself  the  aims  and  ideals  of 
other  selves  do  I  make  of  myself  what  I  may  be.  Even 
more  obviously,  I  intiict  irreparable  wrong  on  my  fellow  if 
I  imperil  his  individuality  by  subduing  his  will  to  mine,  by 
imposing  my  personality  upon  him;  and  I  fail  of  the  con- 
tribution to  the  social  good  of  which  I  am  capable,  if  I  do 
not  follow  where  others  lead  and  espouse  causes  which  I 
have  not  initiated.  It  is  a  commonplace  of  every-day  ethics 
that  only  those  who  have  learned  to  obey  know  how  to  lead, 
and  the  study  of  the  lives  of  the  really  great  leaders  makes 
this  clear.  Only  the  second-rate  commanders  are  sticklers 
for  recognition.  "I  will  hold  his  horse  for  him  if  he  will  win 
me  a  battle,"  Lincoln  exclaims  of  one  of  his  generals. 

It  is  equally  one-sided,  though  perhaps  not  equally  com- 
mon, to  follow  where  one  ought  to  lead,  to  imitate  where  one 
ought  to  initiate,  to  obey  where  one  should  take  command. 
The  truth  is  that  both  will  and  faith,  both  self-assertion  and 
loyal  acknowledgment,  are  essential  factors  of  the  complete 
life.  Each  is  a  manifestation  of  the  deepest  individuality, 
for  the  great  leader  cherishes  instead  of  repressing  the  in- 
dividuality of  his  followers;  and  the  whole-souled  disciple 
expresses  himself  in  his  devotion. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE    SOCIAL    CONSCIOUSNESS 

I.    The  Forms  of  the  Social  Consciousness 

Most  of  the  forms  of  consciousness  of  which  individual 
psychology  treats  are,  or  may  be,  social:  in  other  words, 
they  include,  or  may  include,  a  consciousness  of  relation  to 
other  selves.  Personal  emotion,  loyalty,  the  attitude  of  com- 
mand —  even  reflective  perception  and  thought  —  involve  my 
experienced  relation  to  other  selves.  In  a  narrower  sense,  the 
term  '  social  consciousness  '  is  applied  to  the  awareness  of  my 
relation  not  to  an  individual  but  to  a  group  of  selves.  There 
are  two  main  types  of  social  group:  the  mob,  or  crowd,  and 
the  society.  The  first  is  a  group  of  selves,  of  whom  each  imi- 
tates the  external  acts  and  the  unreflective  consciousness  of 
the  others.  The  mob,  hoAvever,  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  the 
social  psychologist,  is  consciously  imitative.  It  is  probably 
true,  to  be  sure,  that  mob-actions  may  be  unconsciously  per- 
formed. The  most  serious-minded  may  be  carried  out  of 
bounds  at  an  exciting  football  game,  and  may  wake  up  to 
find  that,  quite  unconsciously,  he  has  himself  joined  lustily 
in  ear-splitting  yells  during  several  mad  minutes.  But  this 
unconsciously  active  mob  is  the  concern  of  the  sociologist, 
and  only  incidentally  of  the  psychologist.  The  social  psychol- 
ogist's interest  is  chiefly  with  the  group  of  pcoi)le  who  realize 
their  imitativeness,  who  are  conscious,  however  vaguely,  of 

245 


246  .1    First  Book  in   Psychology 

shared  experiences  and  actions,  who  know  ihal  they  are  join- 
ing the  shout  of  a  thousand  voices,  or  that  they  are  rushing  on 
in  a  great,  moving  mass  of  i)eo])le.  Such  vague  social  con- 
sciousness the  people  of  the  mob  almost  always  possess. 

We  have  next  to  remark  the  strict  limitations  of  the  mob- 
consciousness.  The  individuals  who  compose  it  share  each 
other's  perceptual  and  emotional  exj)erience,  but  their  actions 
are  too  precipitate  to  admit  time  for  thought,  and  they  are 
too  deeply  swayed  by  emotion  to  be  capable  of  loyalty  or 
of  deliberate  will.  The  mob-consciousness  is  not  only  fun- 
damentally imitative,  but  utterly  lacking  in  deliberation  and 
reflection,  and  it  is  therefore  capricious  and  fantastic.  For 
this  reason,  the  acts  of  a  mob  are  absolutely  unpredictable, 
since  they  spring  from  the  emotions,  notably  the  most  tem- 
porary of  our  subjective  attitudes.  The  fickleness  of  the 
crowd  is,  therefore,  its  traditional  attribute;  the  mob  which 
has  cried  aloud  for  the  republic  rends  the  air  with  its  Vive 
le  Roi,  and  the  Dantons  and  Robespierres,  who  have  been 
leaders  of  the  crowd,  become  its  victims. 

What  is  sometimes  called  the  insanity  of  a  mob  is,  in 
reality,  therefore,  a  psychological,  not  a  pathological,  phe- 
nomenon. Every  emotion  and  passion  gains  strength  as  it 
is  shared,  and  is  characterized  by  reactions  of  increasing 
vigor.  The  accelerated  force  of  primitive  emotions,  shared 
by  scores  and  hundreds  of  people,  is  for  a  time  irresistible, 
the  more  so  because  both  emotions  and  the  acts  which  go 
with  them  are  unchecked  by  reasoning  or  by  deliberation. 
No  one  supposes  that  the  crew  of  the  Bourgogne  deliber- 
ately trampled  women  down  in  an  effort  to  reach  the  boats. 
No  one  imagines  that  the  Akron  mob  would  have  set  fire 
to  the   public   buildings,  when   they    knew  that   the   man 


The  Mob-consciousness  247 

whom  they  sought  had  escaped,  had  ihcy  reasoned  the  matter 
out.  Seamen  and  citizens  alike  were  a  prey  to  elemental 
passions  uncontrolled  by  deliberation. 

The  activities  of  a  mob  may,  none  the  less,  be  construc- 
tive as  well  as  destructive,  ideal  as  well  as  material.  Gustave 
le  Bon,  a  brilliant  French  writer,  lays  great  stress  on  the 
capacity  of  a  mob  to  perform  capriciously  generous  deeds  as 
well  as  cruel  ones;  and  he  instances  the  crusades  as  ex- 
ample of  a  great  altruistic  mob-movement.  "A  crowd,"  Le 
Bon  says,  "may  be  guilty  of  every  kind  of  crime,  but  it  is 
also  capable  of  loftier  acts  than  those  of  which  the  isolated 
individual  is  capable."  It  is,  however,  perfectly  unequal  to 
any  logical  conclusions,  any  reasoned  acts,  any  purposed, 
planned,  or  deliberately  chosen  performance.  Whether  it 
drive  the  tumbril  or  rescue  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  its  action  is 
purely  emotional  and  caj)ricious,  and  it  takes  its  cue  unre- 
flectively  from  the  leader  of  the  moment,  for  "a  man  .  .  . 
isolated  .  .  .  may  be  a  cultivated  individual ;  in  a  crowd  he 
is  a  barbarian." 

Many  modern  writers,  Le  Bon  among  them,  believe  that 
the  crowd  or  mob  is  the  only  social  group.  They  thus  com- 
pletely identify  the  crowd  with  'society,'  teaching  that  the 
mob-consciousness  is  the  only  type  of  social  consciousness. 
From  this  doctrine  we  have  good  reason  to  dissent  most 
emphatically,  for  we  clearly  fmd  in  human  experience  what 
has  been  named  the  reflective  social  consciousness.  We 
may  compare,  for  illustration,  the  reflective  national  con- 
sciousness with  mob-patriotism.  Everybody  is  familiar  with 
the  mob-activities  of  so-called  ])atriotism:  the  shouts,  the 
fire-crackers,  the  flag-wavings.  They  are  all  a  part  of  the 
contagious  feeling  and  action  of  a  lot  of    consciously,  but 


248  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

unreflcctivcly,  imitative  selves.  A  reflective  national  con- 
sciousness is  an  utterly  different  sort  of  exj)ericnce.  The 
possessor  of  it  has  certain  deep-seated  social  conceptions, 
ideals,  and  purposes;  these  have  their  significance  to  him 
as  shared  with  a  group  of  selves  who  are  consciously  re- 
lated with  himself  and  with  each  other.  These  principles 
and  ideals  would  be  meaningless  to  the  reflectively  social 
individual,  if  they  were  merely  his  own.  Yet  he  individually 
adopts  and  promulgates  them,  and  he  acts  them  out  at  the 
primaries,  at  the  polls,  and  in  public  office.  Such  a  reflective 
national  consciousness  may  well  be  emotional,  but  it  is  not 
purely  emotional,  and  its  emotional  attitudes  are  constant, 
not  temporary  and  capricious. 

Different  forms  of  college  spirit  illustrate  the  same  dis- 
tinction. To  cheer  oneself  hoarse  at  the  athletic  meet,  and 
to  join  the  men  who  carry  the  hero  of  the  games  in  triumph 
from  the  field,  may  be  a  mere  manifestation  of  mob-con- 
sciousness, an  unreasoned,  unpurposed  wave  of  feeling,  which 
carries  one  off  one's  feet  in  the  contagion  of  a  great  enthu- 
siasm. But  there  is  also  a  deliberate  college  spirit.  The 
student  is  profoundly  conscious  that  his  pursuit  of  a  well- 
shaped  academic  course,  of  a  life  of  close  social  affiliations, 
and  of  an  honorable  college  degree,  is  the  aim  of  hundreds 
of  other  students.  He  realizes  that  he  is  imitating  and,  in 
some  ways,  leading  them,  and  that  they  are  both  imitators 
and  leaders  of  each  other  and  of  him.  He  more  or  less  clearly 
recognizes  that  his  advance  is  an  alternate  imitation  of  his 
teachers  and  his  fellows,  and  a  reaction  against  them.  His 
degree  has  a  purely  social  value  dependent  on  other  people's 
estimate  of  it.  In  a  word,  his  college  life  is  consciously  and 
reflectivelv  social. 


The  Reflective  Social  Consciousness  24Q 

These  illustrations  liave  paved  the  way  for  a  flefinition  of 
the  reflectively  social  consciousness,  as  (i)  the  reflective  adop- 
tion of,  or  domination  over,  the  external  activities  and  the 
conscious  experience  of  other  selves,  who  (2)  arc  regarded 
as  forming  a  social  group.  Such  a  group  of  reflectively  social 
persons  may  be  called  'society'  in  contrast  with  a  crowd  or 
mob. 

There  is  need  to  emphasize  the  truth  that  the  reflective 
social  consciousness  is  not  merely  imitative.  The  reflectively 
social  person  is  aware  of  his  power  to  lead,  as  well  as 
of  his  capacity  to  follow.  This  tendency  of  the  developed 
social  consciousness  has  been  greatly  underemphasized. 
Monsieur  Tarde,  for  example,  believes  that  the  essential 
nature  of  society  is  imitativeness.  "Socialite,"  he  says,* 
"  c'est  I'imitativit^."  It  is  perfectly  evident  that  this  defini- 
tion leaves  out  of  account  the  characteristic  attitude  of  the 
leader  of  society.  Even  those  who  have  confused  society 
with  the  mob  have  been  the  first  to  acknowledge  the  leader 
as  related  to  the  mob,  yet  not  a  member  of  it.  "A  crowd," 
Le  Bon  declares,!  "  is  a  servile  flock  —  incapable  of  ever 
doing  without  a  master."  In  truth,  however  wide  the  place 
we  make  for  imitation  as  a  social  function,  it  can  never  dis- 
place spontaneity  and  leadership.  The  charge  is  lost  when 
the  officer  falls,  and  the  mob  disperses  when  its  leader 
wavers.  Customs  and  conventions  and  fashions  are  imita- 
tions which  are  dominated  by  invention,  and  every  institu- 
tion is,  as  Emerson  said,  'the  lengthened  shadow  of  a  man.' 
Nobody  can  deny  that  these  masters  of  men,  these  cap- 
tains of  industry,  these  world-conquerors,  are  men  possessed 

*  Cf.  "Les  Lois  de  I'Imitation,"  p.  75. 

t  "The  Psychology  of  the  Crowd,"  p.  113. 


250  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

of  social  consciousness.  \Vc  certainly  cannot  attribute  social 
feeling  to  the  Old  Guard  and  deny  it  to  Napoleon.  We 
cannot  assert  that  the  doers  of  the  law  have  a  realization  of 
a  j)ublic  self,  society,  and  that  the  makers  of  the  law  are 
without  it.  The  sense  of  moulding  tlie  common  purpose, 
of  inflaming  the  public  feeling,  and  of  inciting  a  group  of 
selves  to  imitative  action,  is  as  truly  a  social  consciousness 
as  the  realization  that  one  is  imitating  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings and  acts  of  a  group  of  similarly  imitative  selves,  at  the 
inspiration  of  the  same  leader. 

This  dominating  phase  of  the  reflectively  social  conscious- 
ness does  not  belong  to  the  great  leaders  and  masters  only. 
On  the  contrary,  every  reflectively  social  individual  may 
assume  the  dominating,  imperious  attitude,  as  well  as  the 
imitative,  acknowledging  attitude.  Anybody  may,  more- 
over, take  this  attitude  not  only  toward  individuals  but 
toward  society  —  the  reflectively  social  group  whose  members 
are  realized  as  either  imitative  of  each  other  or  as  dominat- 
ing each  other.  The  consciousness  of  this  relation  of  in- 
fluence lies  at  the  basis  of  what  is  known  as  the  realization 
of  one's  social  duty.  One  may  go  to  religious  services,  for 
example,  and  observe  church  festivals,  not  as  a  personal  duty, 
but  because  one  believes  the  observances  socially  valuable, 
and  is  conscious  of  one's  actions  as  likely  to  affect  other 
people's.  More  than  this,  as  our  study  of  will  has  suggested,* 
a  dominating,  not  an  imitative,  attitude  toward  society  is 
entirely  possible  when  one  is  not  master  of  a  situation,  and 
when,  rather,  one  is  leading  a  forlorn  hope  or,  single-handed, 
defying  a  mob.  Thus,  the  experience  of  Sokrates  was  pro- 
foundly social  when,  in  the  Heliastic  Court,  he  stood  alone 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XII.,  p.  216. 


The  Reflective  Social  Consciousness  251 

for  a  lc<:;;il  trial  ot"  I  he  generals  of  yEgos[)otami,  while  the 
Athenians,  beside  themselves  with  horror  over  the  unburied 
crews,  were  crying  out  for  fjuick  vengeance  on  the  leaders  of 
that  luckless  sea-hght.  Certainly  Sokrales  was  conscious  of 
himself  as  opposing,  not  a  single  man  nor  any  fortuitous 
aggregate,  but  all  Athens,  a  composite  group-self  whose 
members  were  being  swept  on  in  a  universal  passion  to  a 
common  crime. 

The  most  important  form  of  the  reflectively  social  con- 
sciousness is  the  moral  experience.  Ethical  systems  differ, 
indeed,  at  many  points  and,  in  particular,  some  include  and 
others  exclude  the  consciousness  of  obligation  as  an  essential 
factor  of  the  moral  consciousness.  But  all  systems,  with  the 
one  exception  of  that  form  of  hedonism  which  teaches  that 
individual  pleasure  is  the  chief  good  of  life,  unite  in  the 
admission  that  the  moral  life  involves  an  altruistic  recog- 
nition, by  one  individual,  of  the  claims  and  of  the  needs  of 
others.  The  great  moral  teachers  —  Jesus,  Aristotle,  Spi- 
noza, Kant,  and  Hegel  —  always  conceive  morality  as  realized 
relation"  of  myself  to  others,  and  found  all  formulations  of 
specific  duly  on  the  conception  of  myself  as  social  being 
(ttoXitlkov  !^6t)ov),*  as  'member  of  the  universal  kingdom  of 
ends '  t  (^r  <i^  neighbor  and  brother.  By  some  moralists,  indeed , 
the  moral  consciousness  in  its  social  phase  is  not  distinguished 
at  all  from  the  reflective  social  consciousness,  and  any  reflect- 
ive realization  of  oneself,  as  member  of  a  group  of  related 
selves,  is  regarded  as  a  definitely  moral  experience.  In  the 
ojjinion  of  the  writer,  there  is,  however,  a  difference  between 
the  merely  social  and  the  ethically  social  attitude:   any  group, 

♦Aristotle,  "Politics,"  Book  I.,  Chapter  2. 
t  Kant,  "Metaphysics  of  Ethics." 


252  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

however  small,  of  related  selves,  can  be  the  object  of  a  genu- 
inely social  consciousness,  but  the  moral  consciousness  keeps 
in  view  the  relationship,  not  of  any  single  group,  but  of  all 
human  selves,  with  each  other.  The  purpose  of  ethical  con- 
duct, therefore,  is  the  realization  of  complete  union  between 
one  self  and  all  other  selves.  In  other  words,  when  I  am 
acting  morally,  I  am  not  aiming  at  my  own  pleasure  or  profit, 
I  am  not  working  to  secure  the  ends  of  my  friend,  my  family, 
my  society,  or  even  of  my  state :  I  am  inspired  by  a  wider 
purpose,  an  ideal  of  the  harmonized  claims  and  needs  of 
all  individuals. 

II.    Imitation  and  Opposition 

As  so  far  studied,  the  social  consciousness  has  been  dis- 
tinguished according  to  the  social  group  —  mob  or  society  — 
which  is  its  object.  We  may  profitably  discuss,  a  little  further, 
two  contrasted  aspects,  imitation  and  opposition,  of  the  social 
consciousness  and  incidentally  of  social  activities.  Opposi- 
tion in  its  two  forms,  invention  and  imperiousness,  is  the  atti- 
tude of  the  social  leader;  imitation  and  the  allied  relation  of 
obedience  are  the  attitudes  of  the  follower,  the  member  of  the 
group,  to  the  leader.  We  are  here  especially  concerned  with 
imitation  and  invention.  Each,  it  is  evident,  is  a  phase  of 
learning,  a  widening  of  individual  experience;  but  whereas 
imitation  involves  no  social  advance,  but  merely  our  indi- 
vidual progress,  opposition  in  the  form  of  invention  implies 
an  addition  to  the  sum  of  human  acquisition. 

If  we  try  to  discover  how  many  of  our  daily  acts  are  repe- 
titions of  those  of  other  people,  we  shall  perhaps  be  sur- 
prised at  our  conclusion.  We  rise,  breakfast,  travel  by  car 
or  by  train,  enter  workroom  or  office  or  shop,  work  behind 


Imitation  253 

machine  or  counter  or  desk,  lunch,  work  again,  return  to  our 
houses,  dine,  amuse  ourselves,  and  sleep;  and  innumerable 
other  peojjle,  near  and  far,  are  also  breakfasting,  travelling, 
working,  dining,  and  sleeping.  Yet  we  are  in  error  if  we 
reckon  all  these  repeated  activities  as  imitations.  An  abso- 
lutely isolated  individual,  without  opportunity  to  imitate 
any  one,  would  nevertheless  eat  and  sleep  and  move  about. 
An  imitation  is  an  act  or  a  conscious  experience  conditioned 
by  another,  or  by  others,  similar  to  it.  Repeated  activities 
are  not,  then,  of  necessity,  imitations,  but  may  be  independent 
expressions  of  an  individual,  though  common,  instinct. 

When,  however,  we  weed  out  from  the  tangle  of  our  re- 
peated acts  and  experiences  those  which  are  mere  instinctive 
or  else  accidental  repetitions,  a  goodly  growth  of  imitations 
still  remains.  For  example,  though  we  sleep,  not  because 
others  do,  but  because  of  the  conditions  of  our  individual 
bodies,  yet  we  sleep  on  the  ground  or  on  beds,  and  from  eight 
o'clock  till  five,  or  from  dawn  till  noon,  simply  because  the 
])eople  who  educated  us  and  the  people  who  surround  us  do 
the  same.  So  we  eat,  not  because  others  eat,  l)ut  to  satisfy 
individual  needs;  yet  we  eat  tallow  or  rice  or  terrajjin,  we  eat 
with  our  fingers  or  with  chop-sticks  or  with  forks,  and  we  eat 
from  the  ground,  from  mats  or  from  tables,  partly  because 
people  have  taught  us  these  ways,  and  ])artly  because  these 
are  the  manners  of  those  about  us.  Again,  our  wanderings 
from  place  to  place  are  unimitative,  instinctive  activities,  but 
the  manner  of  our  travelling,  on  horseback,  by  automobile,  or 
by  acn)])lanc  is,  oftener  than  we  think,  a  caprice  of  fashion. 

The  list  of  our  imitative  acts  is  scarcely  begun.  The  root- 
words  of  a  language,  except  such  as  are  instinctive  vocal  out- 
cries, are  imitations  of  nature  sounds,  and  language  is  always 


254  ^   First  Book  in   Psychology 

acquired  by  imitation.  Peo])le  s])eak  English  or  Dutcli  or 
Portuguese  not  accidentally,  —  as  the  child  suggested,  who 
feared  that  his  baby  brother  might  speak  German,  in  place 
of  English,  —  but  through  imitation  of  the  people  about  us. 
Our  handwriting  is  an  imitation  of  our  teacher's,  and  the 
earliest  handwriting  was  abbreviated  from  the  pictured  imi- 
itation  of  natural  objects.  We  bow  to  each  other  instead  of 
rubbing  noses ;  we  lace  on  calf  boots  instead  of  binding  on 
sandals;  we  read  and  write  short  stories  instead  of  three- 
volumed  romances;  we  revel  in  sociological  heroines  in  place 
of  romantic  ones ;  and  we  study  psychical  research  and  no 
longer  burn  witches.  But  all  these  acts,  ideals,  and  tenden- 
cies are  directly  due  to  custom  or  fashion,  that  is,  to  imitation. 
We  do  and  think  all  these  things,  and  scores  of  others,  because 
others  act  and  think  in  these  ways. 

Two  forms  of  imitation  are  socially  significant:  fashion, 
or  imitation  of  the  present,  of  contemporary  selves  and  facts, 
and  tradition,  or  imitation  of  the  past,  of  one's  ancestors, 
their  thoughts  and  their  acts.  In  Paris,  for  instance,  dress 
is  regulated  by  fashion,  which  changes  with  every  season,  and 
every  woman  therefore  dresses  as  her  neighbor  does.  In 
Brittany,  dress  is  a  tradition,  and  every  woman  dresses  as 
her  great-grandmother  did;  the  paysanne,  who  moves  from 
one  province  to  another,  tranquilly,  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
wears  a  coiffe  which  is  as  tall  as  that  of  the  neighborhood  is 
broad,  as  pointed  as  that  is  square,  as  unadorned  as  that  is 
richly  embroidered.  This  adherence  to  tradition  as  opposed 
to  custom  is  the  real  distinction  between  conservative  and 
radical.  The  latter  need  not  himself  be  original  and  inven- 
tive, but  he  is  friendly  to  innovation  and  receptive  of  the 
customs  of  his  contemporaries;   he  l)reaks  with  the  past  and 


Imitation  255 

allies   himself   with    the   present;     whereas   the   conser\'ati\'e 
clings  to  the  [)ast  and  imitates  the  traditional  observanee. 

Another  ilistinction  is  that  between  ])hysieal  and  j)sychic 
imitation,  imitation  of  movement  and  imitation  of  emotion 
or  idea.  Uniformities  of  movement  —  for  example,  those  of 
drilling  soldiers  or  of  training  oarsmen  —  are  illustrations  of 
the  first  class,  and  fashions  in  creed  or  in  theory,  such  as  the 
evolution  hypothesis  or  the  modern  movement  in  favor  of 
simplified  spelling,  are  instances  of  the  second  sort.  The 
truth  is,  however,  that  conscious  imitation  is  only  seconda- 
rily of  thought  or  of  act.  Primarily  and  fundamentally,  the 
object  of  imitation  is  another  self  or  other  selves,  an  individual 
or  a  social  group;  and  the  imitation  consists  in  a  conscious 
attempt  to  make  oneself  into  this  fascinating  personality  or 
to  become  one  of  this  attractive  circle.  So  the  child  imitates 
his  father's  stride,  because  it  is  his  father's,  not  from  any  in- 
trinsic interest  in  the  movement  in  itself,  and  is  a  fierce 
Jingo  because  his  father  sides  with  the  imperialists, 
not  because  he  himself  inclines  toward  these  principles 
rather  than  toward  others.  The  life  of  the  child  shows  most 
clearl}-,  indeed,  the  intensely  personal  nature  of  imitation. 
The  development  of  his  own  personality  is,  as  Royce  has 
taught  *  by  the  successive  assumption  of  other  people's  per- 
sonality. Now,  he  imitates,  or  throws  himself  into,  the  life 
of  the  explorer;  he  harnesses  his  cocker  spaniel  to  an  Arctic 
sledge  made  of  an  overturned  chair,  and  he  reaches  the 
North  Pole  ahead  of  either  Cook  or  Peary.  A  little  later, 
his  ideals  are  incarnated  in  the  persons  of  military  heroes: 
you  will  find  him  gallantly  defending  the  pass  at  Thermopylae 
behind  a  breastwork  of  pillows,  or  sailing  out   to  meet  the 

*  Century,  1S94. 


256  A  First  Book  in  PsycJiology 

Spanish  Armada  on  a  |)rccarious  ship  of  tables ;  he  adopts  { 
military  step,  organizes  his  companions  into  a  regiment, 
attempts  military  music  on  his  toy  trumpet,  cultivates  in 
himself,  and  demands  from  others,  the  military  virtues  of 
obedience  and  courage.  And  in  all  this  he  is  primarily 
imitating  people,  and  is  imitating  specific  acts  and  ideals, 
only  as  they  are  characteristic  of  these  people. 

One  need  not  turn,  indeed,  to  the  life  of  childhood  for 
illustration  of  the  fundamentally  personal  nature  of  imita- 
tion. For  there  surely  are  few  adults  whose  aims  are  not 
embodied  in  human  beings.  WTiether  one's  ideal  is  that 
of  the  student,  the  physician,  or  the  diplomat,  it  stands 
out  before  one  most  clearly  in  the  figure  of  some  daring  and 
patient  scholar,  some  learned  and  sympathetic  physician, 
some  diplomat  with  insight  and  training.  One's  effort 
often  explicitly,  and  almost  always  implicitly,  to  be  like  this 
ideal  self,  to  realize  in  oneself  his  outlook  and  his  achieve- 
ments; and  one  is  consciously  satisfied  with  oneself  when 
one  has  completed  an  investigation,  made  a  diagnosis,  or 
negotiated  a  treaty  as  this  ideal  self  might  have  done  it. 
The  moral  life,  perhaps,  offers  the  most  frequent  illustration 
of  the  personal  character  of  imitation.  Our  ethical  ideals 
live  in  the  person  of  some  great  teacher,  and  our  moral 
life  is  a  conscious  effort  to  be  like  him;  our  aims,  also,  are 
set  before  us  as  a  supreme  personal  ideal,  and  we  are  bidden 
to  "be  perfect  as  our  Father  in  Heaven  is  perfect." 

Leaving  imitation,  we  have  briefly  to  consider  the  main 
forms  of  the  contrasted  tendency.  These  have  already  been 
named:  on  the  one  hand,  mere  opposition  to  other  selves  and 
to  their  thoughts  and  their  acts;   and,  on  the  other  hand, 


O  p  position  257 

the  leader's  attitude,  whether  domination  or  invention,  toward 
these  other  selves.  In  its  simjjlest  form,  opposition  consists 
in  the  will  to  be  different  from  others.  Unquestionably,  this 
tendency  has  been  underrated,  in  consequence  of  the  almost 
exclusive  interest  of  the  sociologists  in  the  function  of  imita- 
tion. In  all  save  the  most  servile  forms  of  the  social  con- 
sciousness there  occurs  alongside  of  the  impulse  to  follow 
one's  neighbors  the  instinct  to  show  oneself  unlike  them,  or  — 
as  the  impulse  is  sometimes  formulated  —  to  show  one's  own 
individuality.  We  are  most  likely,  of  course,  to  find  opposi- 
tion 'writ  large'  in  the  actions  of  children.  But  the  mischief 
of  a  child  which  prompts  him  quite  wilfully  to  say  'dog'  or 
'cow'  when  he  knows  well  that  he  has  spelled  c-a-t,  to  run 
when  he  is  expected  to  walk  sedately,  and  to  talk  when  silence 
is  demanded,  is  merely  a  more  obvious  expression  of  the 
pposition  instinct,  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  all  eccentricity 
in  dress,  repartee  in  conversation,  and  inventiveness  in  science 
or  in  art.  Throughout  these  varying  manifestations  we  may 
descry  the  tendency  to  be  different,  to  attain  what  Royce 
calls  the  '  contrast  effect,'  quite  for  its  own  sake  and  without 
effort  to  influence  other  people.  In  this  way,  'opposition' 
is  distinct  from  the  kinrlred  form  of  domination,  or  com- 
mand, the  spirit  of  the  leader  of  crowds  and  the  organizer  of 
societies. 

It  must  be  pointed  out,  in  conclusion,  that  imitation  and  in- 
vention are  never  sei:)arate  in  the  sense  that  some  people  and 
some  achievements  are  imitative  and  others  inventive.  The 
truth  is  that  every  normal  person  unites  in  himself,  in  varying 
proportions,  these  two  fundamental  tendencies  of  conscious- 
ness. Nobody  could  be  absolutely  original,  if  that  means 
unimitative;  and  conversely,  one  could  hardly  be  a  self  with- 
s 


258  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

out  some  trace  of  opposition  to  one's  environment.  Thus,  the 
most  daring  inventor  makes  use  of  the  old  principle,  and  the 
most  original  writer  is  imitative,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  using 
language.  On  the  other  hand,  few  copies  are  so  servile  that 
they  are  utterly  undistinguishable  from  the  model. 

The  intimate  union  of  the  two  tendencies  is  shown,  also, 
by  the  fact  that  the  usual  road  to  inventiveness  is  through  imi- 
tation. In  truth,  any  honest  effort  to  imitate  intelligently 
must  result  in  transformation  rather  than  in  mechanical 
copying.  The  healthy  mind  simply  cannot  follow  copy 
without  the  spontaneous  and  unexpected  occurrence  of 
suggestions  for  change  —  of  hot  air  instead  of  steam,  an  iam- 
bic metre  in  place  of  a  trochaic,  burnt  umber  rather  than 
sienna,  or  zinc  solution  in  place  of  chloride.  It  matters  not 
whether  we  work  at  machinery,  at  poetry,  at  painting,  or  at 
chemistry:  we  all  become  inventive  by  trying  to  imitate. 
A  curious,  yet  common,  result  of  this  relation  is  the  inventor's 
inability  to  realize  the  extent  of  the  changes  which  he  brings 
about.  Fichte,  for  example,  supposed  that  he  was  merely 
expounding  Kant,  until  Kant  disclaimed  the  exposition  and 
stamped  Fichte's  doctrine  as  an  injurious  and  heretical  system 
of  thought. 

Not  only  is  it  true  that  invention  is  always  by  way  of  imi- 
tation. It  is  also  certain  that  the  practically  successful,  that 
is,  the  permanent  innovation,  is  the  one  which  can  be  readily 
imitated.  The  inventor  of  machinery,  so  complicated  that 
the  common  man  cannot  use  it,  will  not  succeed  in  introduc- 
ing his  machines,  and  the  promulgator  of  doctrine,  so  pro- 
found that  few  men  can  apprehend  it,  will  not  greatly  in- 
fluence contemporary  thought.  This  is  the  reason  why  the 
most  original  thinkers  are  so  seldom  leaders  of   their  ov^ti 


Imitation  and  Opposition  259 

age;  why,  for  cxanipK',  the  teachings  of  Sokrates,  of  Jesus,  of 
(lalileo,  and  of  S])inoza  exerted  so  little  intluenee  on  con- 
temporary thought.  On  the  other  hand,  the  brilliantly  suc- 
cessful man  almost  always  has  that  highest  grade  of  common- 
place mind  which  strikes  out  nothing  essentially  new,  hut 
which  is  }et  keenly  susceptible  to  most  suggestions,  selecting 
from  these,  with  unerring  good  judgment,  the  readily  imi- 
table  features.  "Too  original  a  thought  is,"  as  Baldwin  says, 
"a  social  sjjort."  Neither  Rousseau  nor  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, he  ])oints  out,*  could  make  a  democracy  of  France;  for 
centuries  under  absolute  rule  had  unfitted  the  French  to  imitate 
and  to  adopt  ideals  of  libertc,  egalile,  f rater  nit  e.  For  a  like 
reason,  Constantine  could  not  christianize  his  legions  by 
baptizing  them ;  and  indeed  nobody  ever  yet  foisted  on  a 
group  of  jieople  an\-  ideal  which  they  were  unprepared  to 
imitate. 

*"  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,"  p.  469. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  RELIGIOUS    CONSCIOUSNESS 

I.   Typical  Personal  Relations 

From  the  conception  of  psychology  as  science  of  myself  in 
relation  to  my  environment,  personal  and  impersonal,  it  fol- 
lows that  every  concrete  personal  relation  may  be  the  basis  of 
a  psychological  study.  My  relation  to  this  friend  and  to  that, 
to  brother  or  father  or  wife  or  child,  to  my  employer  or  to 
my  servant  —  every  one,  indeed,  of  the  relations,  in  which  my 
life  consists,  maybe  reflected  on,  analyzed,  and  explained  after 
this  manner  of  the  psychologist/  The  truth  is,  however,  that 
a  very  healthy  instinct  prevents  us,  ordinarily,  from  this  sort 
of  analysis  of  our  personal  relations.  We  are  too  deeply 
absorbed,  in  living  these  relations,  to  reflect  about  them  from 
the  dispassionate  scientist's  point  of  view.  We  hesitate,  and 
rightly,  to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  our  own  mysteries ;  we  pre- 
fer to  love  and  to  have  faith,  to  sympathize  and  to  enjoy,  to 
command  and  to  yield,  without  rendering  up  to  ourselves 
a  balanced  account  of  our  attitude  to  other  people.  But 
though  we  rarely  expose  our  personal  relations  to  the  dissect- 
ing knife  of  the  psychologist,  there  is  yet  no  reason  why  the 
text-book  in  psychology,  in  so  far  as  it  treats  of  the  relations 
of  selves,  should  not  supply  the  lack  of  scientific  analysis  in 
our  own  lives,  by  furnishing  us  with  a  series  of  studies  of 
typical,  personal  relations  —  studies,  for  example,  of  the  filial, 
the  fraternal,  or  the  civic  relation,  or  even  more  general  studies, 

260 


Typical   Personal  Relations  261 

after  the  fashion  of  Hegel's  analysis  of  typical  moods  of  youth 
—  the  romantic,  the  Quixotic,  and  the  Byronic.  But  there 
is  a  practical  reason  why  the  text-book  on  jjsychology  does 
not,  ordinarily,  include  such  studies  of  typical  and  universal 
relations.  The  novel  and  the  drama  have  already  usurped 
this  function  of  the  psychological  treatise,  and  just  because 
their  characters,  however  typical,  are  also  particular  and 
highly  individual,  therefore  the  psychology  of  novel  or  of 
drama  is  more  absorbing  and  closer  to  life  than  that  of  any 
treatise.  It  follows  that  the  novel  has  become,  in  some 
degree,  the  popular  introduction   to   psychology. 

The  novel  or  drama  is,  of  course,  a  study  in  the  psychol- 
ogy of  personal  relations  only.  With  the  enumeration  of 
structural  elements  of  consciousness  and  the  assignment  of 
each  to  a  physiological  condition,  it  is  only  incidentally  con- 
cerned; but  the  complexity  and  richness  of  the  relations 
of  its  dramatis  persona;  are  the  \ery  soul  of  it.  The  interest 
of  a  Shakespeare  play  docs  not  centre  in  the  scene  —  the 
witches'. heath  or  the  field  of  Agincourt  —  nor  in  the  rhythm 
and  melody  of  the  verses,  but  in  the  developing  and  con- 
trasting relations  of  the  central  figures  to  each  other  and  to 
the  lesser  characters.  Thus,  the  plays  of  which  King  Henry 
the  Fifth  is  hero  are  a  study  of  a  youth  of  prominently  active 
nature,  in  whom  the  emotions  are  undeveloped  and  unaccen- 
tuated.  The  love  scene  is  sufficient  proof  of  this :  King  Henry 
complains  that  he  has  "no  genius  in  protestation,"  and  that  he 
"  cannot  look  greenly  nor  gasp  out  his  eloquence,"  but  though 
he  doubtless  himself  believes  that  he  lacks  only  cxj)ression,  the 
discriminating  reader  realizes  that  he  is  not  capable  of  deep 
emotion,  and  that  e\en  while  he  laughs  and  plays  jjranks  with 
FalstalT,  and  makes  love  to  Kate,  he  is  never  carried  out  of 


262  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

himself,  never  a  prey  to  feeling;  in  a  word,  never  in  passive 
emotional  relation  to  anybody,  even  to  his  sweetheart.  Al- 
ways, therefore,  on  the  battle-field  or  in  the  court  of  love,  he 
is  the  plain  soldier,  actively  and  imperiously  related  to  men, 
whether  he  hand  them  their  death-warrants  or  give  them  his 
gloves  as  favors,  whether  he  boast  of  his  army's  prowess  or 
hearten  his  soldiers  in  their  discouragement. 

But  though,  for  the  most  part,  we  are  content  to  leave  in 
the  hands  of  dramatist  and  of  novelist  the  treatment  of 
concrete  personal  relations,  there  is  one  such  relation  so 
universal,  so  significant,  and  so  often  misapprehended,  that 
we  shall  here  consider  it.  This  is  the  relation  of  human  to 
divine  self. 

II.     The  Religious  Consciousness 

The  study  of  religion  may  be  undertaken  from  several 
points  of  view.  One  may  study  the  history  of  religions, 
tracing  the  development  of  one  from  another  and  taking 
note  of  the  place  of  religion  in  the  life  of  different  peoples; 
or  one  may  study  the  philosophy  of  religion,  assigning  to  its 
objects  a  place  in  the  whole  universe  of  reality.  Funda- 
mental, however,  both  to  the  history  and  to  the  philosophy 
of  religion  is  the  psychological  study  of  the  religious  con- 
sciousness. Such  a  study  must  begin,  like  every  psychological 
investigation,  by  a  study  of  my  own  consciousness,  but  will 
be  supplemented  by  reference  to  historical  records  of  reli- 
gious experience.  Its  specific  starting-point  must  be  some 
admitted  definition  of  the  religious  consciousness.  Many 
definitions  may  be  found,  but  simplest  and  most  adequate, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  is  the  conception  of  religion  as 
the  conscious  relation  of  human  self  to    divine    self,    that 


The  Religious  Consciousness  263 

is,  to  a  self  regarded  as  greater  than  this  human  self  or  than 
any  of  its  fellows."* 

If  there  were  space  to  argue  in  detail  for  this  conception 
of  the  religious  consciousness,  one  would  first  of  all  point 
out  that  it  lies  at  the  base  of  all  historical  forms  of  religion. 
As  is  well  known,  living  beings  and  nature  j)henomena  are 
the  objects  of  the  i)rimitive  religious  consciousness.  An- 
cestor-worship is  the  most  important  form  of  the  worship 
of  conscious  beings ;  fetichism  and  the  worshij)  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  are  the  extreme  forms  of  the  nature  religions.  Now  it 
is  obvious  that  the  worship  of  the  dead  warrior  or  patriarch, 
and  indeed  the  worship  of  any  person,  or  even  of  any  ani- 
mal, living  or  dead,  is  a  conscious  relation  of  the  worshipper 
to  another  self.  But  it  seems,  at  first  sight,  as  if  the  wor- 
ship of  a  nature  phenomenon  could  not  be  in  any  sense  a 
conscious  relation  to  a  greater  self.  A  fetich  is  an  insig- 
nificant object,  a  bit  of  bone  or  a  twig  or  a  pebble,  not  a 
living  being;  and  sun,  moon,  air,  and  water,  the  gods  of 
the  nature  religions,  are  inanimate  beings.  A  closer  study, 
however,  shows  that  these  objects,  fetiches  as  well  as  sun 
and  moon  and  stars,  are  worshipped,  not  for  what  they  arc, 
but  because  they  are  looked  upon  as  embodiments  of  con- 
scious selves.  No  savage  is  so  ignorant  that  he  fears  and 
reverences  a  bit  of  bone,  as  mere  bone;  he  worshij)s  it  be- 
cause he  looks  upon  it  as,  in  some  mysterious  way,  the  instru- 
ment or  symbol  of  a  powerful,  though  unseen,  self  ;r  spirit. 
And  no  Aryan,  we  may  be  sure,  ever  bowed  down  before  the 
Sim,  feeling  that  his  god  was  a  mere  fiaming,  yellow  ball. 
He  worshii)ped  the  sun  as  a  being  apart  from  him  and  in- 
finitel}-  greater  than  he,  yet  none  tlu'  less  a  self,  however 
*  For  Notrs  i  and  2,  rf.  .\p{)ciiciix,  Section  X\'. 


264  A  First  Book  in  Psychology 

vaguely  conceived.  Nature  souls,  in  the  words  of  Pfleiderer, 
a  well-known  liislorian  of  religion,  "are  originally  nothing 
but  the  livingness  and  active  power  of  the  phenomena  of 
nature,  conceived  after  the  analogy  of  animal  and  man  as 
willing  and  feeling  beings."  * 

If  this  were  a  book  about  religion,  instead  of  being  a  book 
about  psychology,  it  would  go  on  to  show  that  the  systems 
which  seem  to  diverge  from  this  conception  are  no  true 
exceptions.  It  would  show,  also,  that  the  history  of  reli- 
gion chronicles,  in  a  sort  of  pendular  succession,  a  reaction 
of  two  motives,  one  upon  the  other.  A  given  religion,  while 
it  must  include  both  factors,  emphasizes  either  the  superior 
power  of  its  gods  or  else  their  essential  likeness  to  human 
beings.  In  the  lower  forms  of  animism,  for  example,  there 
is  little  difference  between  god  and  worshipper;  and  the 
gods  of  the  Hellenes,  who  live  among  men,  feasting,  plot- 
ting, making  love,  come  perilously  near  to  losing  the  divine 
attribute  of  power.  The  higher  nature-deities,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  revered  as  immeasurably  greater  than  human 
beings. 

The  history  of  religious  rite  offers  another  proof  of  the 
personal  nature  of  the  religious  consciousness.  "To  speak 
boldly,"  Clement  of  Alexandria  says,  "prayer  is  conversa- 
tion with  God."  t  In  similar  fashion,  Tylor  defines  prayer 
as  "the  address  of  personal  spirit  to  personal  spirit."  ff  The 
prayer,  often  quoted,  of  the  Samoyed  woman  on  the  steppes 
shows  very  clearly  how  simple  may  be  this  communication 
of  the  human  with  the  divine.     In  the  morning,  bowing 

*  "Philosophy  of  Religion,"  Vol.  III.,  p.  237.     Cf.  E.  B.  Tylor,  "Primi- 
tive Culture,"  Vol.  II.,  pp.  185  and  294. 
t  "  Slromatum,"  Vol.  VII.,  242,  d. 
tt  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  364. 


The  Religious  Consciousness  265 

down  before  the  sun,  she  said  only,  'When  thou  risest,  I 
too  rise  from  my  bed,'  and  in  the  evening  she  said,  'When 
thou  sinkcst  down,  I  too  get  me  to  rest.'  *  Here  we  have 
neither  petition,  confession,  nor  explicit  adoration,  but  mere 
intercourse,  that  is,  acknowledgment  of  common  exj)ericncc. 
Prayer  may  be,  indeed,  a  mere  request  for  material  good  like 
the  Gol<l  Coast  negro's  prayer,  "God  give  me  rice  and 
yams,  gold  and  agries,  give  me  slaves,  riches,  and  health,"* 
or  it  may  be  a  prayer  for  forgiveness,  like  the  Aryan's  cry, 
"Through  want  of  strength,  thou  strong  and  bright  God, 
have  I  gone  wrong;  have  mercy,  almighty,  have  mercy;  "  f 
but  whate\'cr  its  form,  ])rayer,  like  sacrifice,  is  always  the 
communion  of  the  human  with  the  more-than-human  sj)irit. 
This  introductory  reference  to  the  history  of  religions 
and  of  religious  rites  prepares  us  for  our  sj)ecific  problem, 
the  nature  of  the  religious  consciousness.  The  conception 
which  we  have  gained  enables  us,  in  the  first  place, ft  to  limit 
the  essentials  of  the  religious  experience.  Ritual  and  cere- 
monial, theories  of  heaven  and  hell,  and  even  hopes  of  im- 
mortality, are  religious  only  in  so  far  as  they  grow  out  of 
the  consciousness  of  God  or  grow  up  into  it ;  in  the  realiza- 
tion and  immediate  acrpiaintance  with  God,  the  religious 
experience  has  its  centre  and  its  circumference.  We  shall 
gain  a  truer  understanding,  therefore,  of  the  religious  con- 
sciousness, if  we  do  not  regard  it  as  an  experience  radically 
difTerent  from  the  other  personal  relations  of  our  lives.  For 
if  God  be  just  a  greater  self,  then  one's  attitude  toward  him 

*  Tylt)r,  op.  cit.,  \'o\.  II.,  pp.  2t;i,  292;  and  p.  .367. 

t  Quoted  by  Tylor,  of),  cit.,  \'ol.  II.,  p.  _^7>,  from  the  Rij^  \'eda,  V'll., 

ft  Thi.s  scntt-nrc,  and   a   few  of  tliosc  \vhi(  li  follow,  arc  (jiiotcd  from  a 
paper,  Ijy  the  writer,  in  the  NtlC  World,  1S9O. 


266  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

cannot  be  utterly  unlike  one's  attitude  toward  a  powerful 
human  friend  or  chief.  In  our  study  of  the  religious  con- 
sciousness, we  must  thus  be  guided  throughout  by  the 
analogy  of  human  relalionshij)s. 

Now  human  beings  are,  first  of  all,  liked  or  disliked, 
feared  or  thanked,  loved  or  hated,  and  in  the  same  way  the 
religious  experience  is  always,  certainly  in  part,  emotional. 
At  its  lowest  emotional  terms,  it  includes  at  least  the  feeling 
of  the  dependence  of  the  human  on  the  divine.  But  ordi- 
narily the  religious  experience  is  far  richer  in  emotion,  and 
there  is,  indeed,  no  significant  phase  of  human  feeling 
which  may  not  as  well  characterize  the  relation  of  man  to 
God  as  that  of  man  to  man.  Abject  fear,  profound  grati- 
tude, bitter  hatred,  or  devoted  love  may  be  factors  of  the 
religious  experience.  The  savage,  who  bribes  his  gods 
through  fear  of  them,  and  the  rebels  who  cry  out,  "All  we 
are  against  thee,  against  thee,  O  God  most  high,"  are  as 
truly  religious  in  their  emotion  as  the  humblest  and  most 
self-forgetful  worshippers. 

We  have  found,  however,  in  our  analysis  of  personal 
relations,  that  there  is  an  active  as  well  as  a  passive  atti- 
tude to  other  selves,  a  relation  of  faith  or  will,  as  well  as 
an  emotional  relation  of  fear  or  reverence.  This  active 
acknowledgment  of  loyalty  or  faith  is  the  second  charac- 
teristic phase  of  religious  experience.  It  may  be  touched 
by  emotion,  yet  it  is  sometimes  an  utterly  unemotional 
acknowledgment  of  the  divine  self,  a  submission  to  what 
one  conceives  to  be  his  will,  an  adoption  of  what  one  looks 
upon  as  his  ideal,  a  resolute  loyalty  unlighted  by  emotions 
supported  only  by  a  sober  and  perhaps  rather  dreary  con- 
viction of  duty.     It  may  be  questioned  whether  there  is  a 


The   Rc/ii^ious  Consciousness  267 

more  heroic  type  of  religious  exjXTience  than  jusl  this  cold 
adoption  of  what  one  concei\es  to  be  the  right  relation  to 
God. 

Wc  arc  thus  brought,  face  to  face,  with  the  significant 
problem  regarding  the  connection  between  the  religious 
and  the  ethical  experience.  Our  defmilion  of  religion,  as 
relation  of  the  human  self  to  the  divine,  ])rovides  us  with 
a  standard  by  which  to  test  the  frequent  claim  that  morality 
is  religion.  This  claim  is  often  strongly  opposed  on  his- 
torical grounds.  It  is  pointed  out  that  primitive  religions 
are  full  of  positively  immoral  customs  and  rites,  that  the 
Borneans,  for  example,  gain  new  spirits  by  head-hunting, 
and  that  the  Oceanians  have  a  god  of  thieving,  to  whom 
they  offer  a  bit  of  their  booty,  bribing  him  to  secrecy  with 
such  words  as  these:  "Here  is  a  bit  of  the  pig;  take  it,  good 
Hiero,  and  say  nothing  of  it."  *  Such  an  argument,  how- 
ever, is  inadequate,  no  matter  how  firmly  establislicd  the 
facts  on  which  it  is  based.  For  though  Borneans  and 
Oceanians  and  all  other  savage  people  perform  acts,  which 
we  call  wrong,  as  parts  of  their  religious  observance,  it  may 
be  that  they  do  not  thereby  violate  their  own  moral  codes. 

The  opposition  between  religion  and  morality  lies  deeper. 
The  religious  experience  is  fundamentally  a  consciousness 
of  God  or  of  gods,  a  realized  relation  of  the  worshipper  to 
a  spirit  or  to  spirits  who  are  greater  than  he  and  greater 
also  than  his  fellow-men.  The  moral  consciousness,  on  the 
other  hand,  is,  as  has  ap])eared,  a  form  of  the  social  con- 
sciousness, a  man's  recognition  of  his  place  in  the  whole 
interrelated  organism  of  human  beings.  Now,  just  as  any 
human  relation  is  incomj)lete  and  unworth\-,  if  it  lacks  ihr 

*  Cf.  Ratzcl,  "History  of  Mankind,"  \'ol.  I.,  p.  304. 


268  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

moral  experience,  the  consciousness,  in  some  sense,  of  obli- 
gation toward  another  self,  so  the  religious  consciousness  is 
superficial,  unhealthy,  and  fragmentary,  if  it  does  not  include 
the  acknowledgment  of  duty  toward  God.  But  though  reli- 
gion without  morality  is  ethically  degrading,  it  is  none  the 
less  religion.  Any  conscious  relation  to  God,  however  low 
and  lifeless,  however  destitute  of  moral  responsibility,  is 
religion;  and  no  morality,  however  sublime,  no  life,  how- 
ever noble,  is  religious,  if  it  lack  this  conscious  relation  to 
God.  It  follows,  of  course,  that  a  bad  man  may  be  reli- 
gious and  that  a  good  man  may  lack  the  consciousness  of 
his  relation  to  God.  Undoubtedly,  therefore,  certain  ethical 
systems  are  better  and  safer  guides  than  certain  religious 
creeds.  Religion,  however,  is  not  and  cannot  be  morality, 
simply  because  religion  is,  and  morality  is  not,  a  conscious 
relation  of  human  self  to  the  divine. 

The  aesthetic,  almost  as  frequently  as  the  moral,  experi- 
ence is  mistaken  for  religion.  The  profound  emotion,  with 
which  one  falls  upon  one's  knees  with  the  throng  of  wor- 
shippers in  a  great  cathedral,  is  named  religious  awe,  though 
it  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  what  Du  Maurier  calls  mere  'sen- 
suous attend)' is sement.^  The  stately  proportions  of  nave  and 
transept,  the  severe  beauty  of  pillar  and  arch,  the  rich  color- 
ing of  stained  glass,  the  thrilling  sounds  of  the  organ,  and 
the  heavy  odor  of  the  incense  may  hold  one's  whole  soul 
enthralled,  and  leave  no  room  for  the  realization  of  any 
personal  attitude  to  a  God  who  is  in  or  behind  all  this 
beauty.  In  the  same  way,  the  absorbed  study  of  nature 
beauty  is  a  self-forgetful,  but  not,  for  that  reason,  a  religious, 
experience. 

This  teaching,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  in  opposition  to  the 


The  Religions  Consciousness  269 

modern  tendency  to  class  experiences  as  religious  if  they 
do  not  deal  directly  with  material  needs  and  conditions. 
But  the  very  breadlh  and  comjjrehensiveness  of  these  con- 
ceptions make  them,  in  the  writer's  opinion,  valueless.  It 
is  indeed  true  that  the  religious,  the  ethical,  and  the  iesthetic 
consciousness  are  alike,  in  that  they  are,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  altruistic  rather  than  merely  egoistic  experiences.  It 
is,  however,  misleading  to  confuse  relations  which,  though 
similar  in  one  respect,  are  none  the  less  sharply  distinguished. 

Our  study  of  the  religious  experience  has  not  yet  even 
named  what  is  ordinarily  accounted  its  most  important  fac- 
tor: the  conviction  of  God's  reality,  or  —  as  it  is  commonly 
called — belief.  The  truth  is  that  belief,  in  this  sense,  is 
not  a  part  of  any  personal  experience,  that  is,  of  any  rela- 
tion of  one  self  with  another.  We  are  not  occupied,  in  our 
personal  relationships,  with  reflections  upon  one  another's 
reality:  we  merely  like  or  dislike  each  other,  and  are  loyal 
or  imperious.  We  may,  to  be  sure,  be  conscious  of  the 
reality  of  (jod  and  of  our  human  fellows,  but  this  reflection 
upon  "reality  is  usually  a  phase  of  the  philosophical  con- 
sciousness, and  not  even  an  ingredient  of  the  religious  ex- 
perience. Certainly,  a  bare  conviction  of  the  actual  exist- 
ence of  another  self,  human  or  divint-,  by  whom  one  does 
not  feel  oneself  affected,  to  whom  one  is  utterly  unrelated, 
is  not  a  personal  experience  at  all.  A  belief  of  the  reality  of 
the  deposed  Turkish  Sultan,  Abdul  Hamid,  is  no  personal 
relation  with  him;  and  the  mere  persuasion  thai  there 
exists  a  Supreme  Being  does  not  constitute  a  religious  ex- 
perience. 

But  though  the  conviction  of  reality  does  not  enter  into 
the  immediateness  of  the  j)ersonal  exj)erience,  it  is  evident 


270  A   First  Book  in  Psychology 

that  no  ri'lationship  with  God  is  possible  to  one  who  is  dis- 
tinctly convinced  that  there  is  no  God.  Some  degree  of 
the  conviction  of  God's  reality  must,  therefore,  form  the 
background  of  every  religious  experience,  except  the  primi- 
tive personal  relation  in  which  one  neither  questions  nor 
believes.*  But  this  sense  of  God's  reality  has  unsuspected 
gradations  of  assurance,  lying  between  the  extremes  of 
doubt  and  reasoned  conviction.  The  consciousness  of 
God's  reality  may  attain  the  completeness  of  philosophical 
dogma,  but  it  may,  on  the  other  hand,  be  incomplete  and 
illogical;  it  may  be  firmly  held  or  it  may  be  feeble  and 
vacillating.  For  the  truth  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  this 
consciousness  of  reality  is,  at  most,  a  secondary  and  unem- 
phasized  part  of  religious  experience;  and  religion  is,  as  we 
cannot  too  often  repeat,  a  relation  with  God,  like  our  rela- 
tions with  our  fellow-men.  In  Fichte's  words:  "Herein  reli- 
gion doth  consist,  that  man  in  his  own  person  and  not  in 
that  of  another,  with  his  own  spiritual  eye  and  not  through 
that  of  another,  should  immediately  behold,  have,  and 
possess  God." 

*  Cf.  Chapter  XIII.,  p.  239. 


APPENDIX 


This  Appendix  contains:  (i)  Bibliographical  lists  and  footnote  refer- 
ences. (2)  Critical  discussions  of  disputed  problems  in  psychology,  and 
supplementary  notes  upon  topics  briefly  treated  in  the  body  of  the  book. 
(3)  An  account  (Section  III.)  of  the  human  body,  in  particular,  of  the 
nervous  system  and  of  the  sense-organs,  which  amplifies  the  condensed 
statements  of  the  preceding  chapters.  (4)  A  brief  section  (XVI.)  on 
abnormal  psychology.  (5)  A  collection  (Section  XVII.)  of  questions, 
designed  to  test  the  student's  first-hand  understanding  of  the  facts  of 
psychology,  and  following  the  order  of  topics  discussed  in  the  successive 
chapters  of  the  book. 

The  references  to  literature  are  in  no  sense  exhaustive.  They  are  full- 
est in  the  case  of  the  difficult  subjects  and  with  reference  to  the  topics 
most  under  dispute.  Few  references  have  been  given  to  the  standard 
text-books  and,  on  the  other  hand,  an  eiifort  has  been  made  to  take  ac- 
count of  recent  periodical  and  monograph  literature.  For  other  bibli- 
ographies, the  student  may  consult:  M.  W.  Calkins,  "An  Introduction 
to  Psychology,"  1901,  pp.  492  ff.  (with  supplement  to  the  bibliography 
■  in  the  second  edition,  1905) ;  E.  B.  Titchener,  "Experimental  Psychology, 
Qualitative  Experiments,  Instructor's  Manual,"  1901,  passim,  and  Ap- 
pendix II.,  and  "A  Text-book  of  Psychology,"  1909,  passim ;  also,  the 
yearly  Index  of  periodical  literature  published  by  the  Psychological 
Review. 


272 


m 


ji  iarENDix 


SECTION   I.* 

I.  The  Conception  of  Psychology  as  Science  of   Related 
Selves  contrasted  with  Other  Conceptions 

a.    psychology  as  science  of  ideas 

§  I.  Psychology,  as  we  have  studied  it,  is  the  science  of  self  in 
relation  to  environment.  This  conception  must  be  compared 
with  two  others  widely  held.  According  to  the  first  of  these, 
psychology  studies  not  the  self  but  the  succession  of  ideas  (so-called 
mental  processes)  one  upon  the  other,  each  as  belonging  to  a 
definite  moment.  From  this  ])oint  of  view,  the  psychologist  is 
concerned  not  with  the  self  as  perceiving,  but  with  the  percept ;  not 
with  the  self  as  willing,  or  in  assertive  relation  to  other  self  or  thing, 
but  with  the  volition  —  in  a  word,  not  with  the  self  as  conscious  of 
objects,  but  with  consciousness  regarded  impersonally  without 
reference  to  any  self. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  this  book,  this  conception  of  psy- 
chology is  self-consistent  and  possible.  In  other  words,  con- 
sciousness may  be  treated,  scientifically,  as  series  of  ideas;  and 
percepts,  images,  thoughts,  and  the  rest  may  be  analyzed,  classified, 
and  explained  by  reference  to  parallel  physical  and  physiological 
phenomena.  But  there  are  two  conclusive  objections  to  such  a 
procedure.  In  the  first  place,  it  arbitrarily  neglects  a  part  of  our 
immediate  consciousness,  and,  in  the  second   place,  it  olTers  an 

*  Sections  I. -XV.  of  this  Appendix  correspond,  each  for  each,  with  the 
fifteen  chapters  of  the  body  of  the  book.  Each  section  is  divided  into  sub- 
sections, indicated  by  Arabic  numerals;  and  indices  from  each  chapter  of 
the  book  refer  to  these  numbered  subsections.  The  page  headings  of  the 
Appendix  refer  back  to  those  pages  in  the  body  of  the  book  on  which  the 
Appendix  roinments. 

•'■  273 


274  Supplement  to  Chapter  I.  [Pages 

inadequate  description  of  consciousness.  To  begin  with  the 
first  of  these  criticisms:  on  this  view,  psychology  is  science  of 
ideas.  But  I  cannot  he  conscious  of  an  idea  except  as  idea  of  a 
self;  implicitly,  if  not  explicitly,  I  am  always  conscious  of  a  self, as 
having  the  idea  or  experience.  If,  therefore,  I  defme  psychology 
as  science  of  ideas,  I  raise  the  inevitable  question:  ''whose  idea?" 
and  then  refuse  arbitrarily  to  answer  the  question. 

Idea-psychology,  in  the  second  place,  though  it  unquestionably 
offers  a  scientific  treatment  of  consciousness,  does  not  adequately 
describe  the  different  forms  of  human  experience.  The  character- 
istic methods  which  it  shares  with  all  forms  of  psychology  are, 
(i)  structural  analysis  and  (2)  classification  and  explanation*  by 
reference  to  regularly  preceding,  accompanying,  and  following 
physical  and  physiological  conditions.  But  our  study  of  psy- 
cholog}'  lias  surely  shown  that  perception  and  recognition  and 
thought,  and,  more  obviously  but  no  more  truly,  emotion,  will, 
and  faith,  are  incompletely  described  when  analyzed  into  merely 
structural  elements  and  referred  to  bodily  conditions.  Perception 
is,  indeed,  indistinguishable  from  imagination  except  as  it  is  re- 
garded as  a  shareable  and  not  a  private  experience;  emotion  is 
not  merely  pleasant  or  unpleasant :  it  is  an  individualizing  and  a 
receptive  experience.  For  both  the  reasons  which  have  been 
named,  the  conception  of  psychology,  as  science  of  ideas,  must 
be  rejected  as  an  unsatisfactory  programme  for  the  psychologist, 

h.     PSYCHOLOGY   AS    SCIENCE    OF    MENTAL    FUNCTIONS 

A  second  contemporar}'  conception  of  psychology  is  as  science 
of  mental  functions,  or  functional  psychology'.  This  doctrine  is 
not  so  clearly  cut  nor  so  precisely  formulated  as  that  of  idea- 
psychology,  for  the  word  '  function'  is  used  with  different  shades  of 
meaning  by  different  writers  of  this  group^  Common  to  all  'func- 
tional' theories  is  the  conception  of  function  as  activity;  but  — 
partly,  no  doubt,  because  of  the  indefiniteness  of  this  term  '  activity ' 

*  On  the  sense  of  explanation  in  psychology,  see  a  paper  by  the  writer, 
Journal  of  PhilosopJiy,  190S,  V.,  pp.  16  ff. 


3-6]  Appendix,  Section  /.,  §  i  275 

—  many  funrtional  psvcliolojfists  (K'fiiu'  it  more  precisely  as  re- 
action directed  toward  environim-nl ;  and  ol'teii  |jro(  eed  to  describe 
the  reaction  as  biologically  useful.* 

To  this,  as  a  com])lete  concei)tion  of  psycholog)',  there  is  an  objec- 
tion exactly  ])arallel  to  the  first  of  those  advanced  against  idea- 
psychology.  A  function,  whether  defined  merely  as  activity  or  as 
useful  reaction  to  environment,  is  the  function  of  a  functioner; 
and  there  is  no  activity  which  is  not  the  activity  of  an  actor. 
Therefore,  I  simply  cannot  study  mental  functions  without  at 
the  same  time  studying  the  functioning  self.  For  just  as  the  study 
of  ideas  raises  the  unavoidable  question,  "whose  idea?"  so  the 
consideration  of  mental  functions  directly  involves  the  (juestion: 
"  functions  of  whom?"  To  detine  psychology  as  science  of  mental 
functions  without  referring  the  functions  to  the  functioning  self,  is, 
therefore,  an  entirely  artificial  proceeding. 

More  closely  scrutinized,  functional  psychology  turns  out,  in 
the  second  place,  to  be  either  a  synonym  for  self-psychology  or 
else,  once  more,  only  a  partial  psychology.  If  the  term  'function  ' 
be  taken  with  the  meaning  'reaction  to  environment,'  and  if  the 
environment  be  then  described,  in  Professor  Angell's  words,  as 
*  social '  and  not  merely  'physical,'!  it  must  follow  that  a  'func- 
tion' is  a  social  relation,  ■ —  in  other  words,  a  [)ersonal  attitude.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  term  'function'  be  taken  in  a  strictly  bio- 
logical sense,  then  the  account  of  different  sorts  of  conscious- 
ness as  different  reactions  to  environment,  —  as  adaptations  or 
variations,  as  self-preservations  or  propagations,  —  these  ac- 
counts will  explain  and  classify  psychic  phenomena,  but  will  in  no 
sense  describe  them  psychologically.  To  call  fear,  for  example,  an 
instinctive,  self-preservative  reaction  of  withdrawal,  classifies  and 
(in  a  way)  explains  the  emotion  of  fear,  but  no  more  describes  it 
than  the  statement,  "a  Watteau  painted  fire  screen  protects  from 
the  heat  of  the  fire"  describes  the  Watteau  figures.  The  classi- 
fication of  a  psychological  experience  as  biologically  useful  is  both 
correct  and  significant,  but  so  far  from  fulfilling  the  requirements 

*  Cf.  Journal  of  Psychology,  IQ07,  I\'.,  pp.  6S1  tT.,  witli  ritations. 
t  "  Psyi  hology,  "  p.  7. 


276  Stipplcmeni  to  Chapter  I.  [Pages 

of  psychological  analysis,  it  is  not  psychological  description  at  all. 
Such  description  is,  indeed,  impossible  without  the  study  of  a  self, 
in  ]iersonaI  relation,  emphasized  or  unemphasized,  receptive  or 
assertive,  egoistic  or  altruistic,  to  an  environment  which  is  personal 
as  well  as  biological. 

C.    CONSIDERATIONS   IN    FAVOR    OF    SELF-PSYCHOLOGY 

I.   Answers  to  Objections 

The  discovery  that  many  psychologists  oppose  or  ignore  this 
conception  of  psychology,  as  science  of  self,  obliges  us  to  marshal 
the  arguments  for  the  theory.  We  may  profitably  begin  by  con- 
sidering the  objections  which  have  been  urged  against  it.  These 
are  chiefly  three.  It  is  objected,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  con- 
ce])tion  of  self,  however  justified,  is  a  philosophical  rather  than 
a  scientific  conception.  This  objection  is,  perhaps,  too  technical 
to  be  discussed  here  in  detail.  Those,  however,  who  believe  with 
the  writer,  that  any  fact  open  to  everyday  observation  —  a  stone, 
a  word,  a  manoeuvre  —  may  be  scientifically  studied  will  see  no 
difliculty  in  the  conception  of  a  scientific  study  of  facts  so  univer- 
sally admitted  to  exist  as  selves. 

One  form  which  this  objection  takes  must,  however,  be  opposed 
with  energy.  Briefly  stated,  it  consists  first  in  identifying  the  self 
of  psychology  with  some  philosophical  conception  of  self  and  then 
in  arguing,  rightly  enough,  that  the  philosophical  conception  is  out 
of  place  in  psychology.  But  between  the  philosophical  and  the 
psychological  conception  of  the  self  there  is  a  well-marked  distinc- 
tion. The  psychologist  does  not  ask  whether  or  not  the  self  is 
material  or  immaterial,  inherently  worthy  or  worthless,  endless  or 
finite.  By  self  (or  subject,  ego,  mind,  soul)  the  psychologist  may 
mean  much  less  than  the  philosopher  means.  Certain  characters 
of  the  soul  as  conceived  by  mediaeval  and  modern  philosophy  are 
entirely  excluded  from  the  psychologist's  self.  Obviously,  there- 
fore, the  self  cannot  be  drummed  out  of  the  psychologist's  camp 
by  arguments  directed  against  one  form  or  another  of  the  philo- 
sophical conception. 


3-6]  Appendix,  Seel  ion  /.,  §  i  277 

A  second  objection  to  the  doctrine  of  self  as  set  forlli  in  this  I)ook 
is  l^rought  forward  by  some  of  the  functional  jxsychologists.  This 
conception  of  the  self  is,  they  urge,  too  exclusively  psychological. 
VVe  know  no  disembodied  selves,  and  the  psychologist  should 
therefore  study  the  mind  in  the  body.  Or,  as  this  theory  is  some- 
times staled,  the  unit  or  basal  conception  of  j)sychology  is  the 
psychophysical  organism,  the  unity  of  mind  and  body.  To  this 
objection  the  following  reply  may  be  made:  Unquestionably,  the 
self  whom,  as  psychologists,  we  study,  is  a  self  in  close  relation 
to  a  body;  and  the  study  of  the  physical  conditions  and  of  the 
bodily  reactions  accompanying  consciousness  is  of  great  impor- 
tance. But  there  is  no  complete  'unity  of  mind  and  body.'  Even 
the  advocates  of  this  theory  are  obliged  to  distinguish  between 
purely  physiological  f.unctions,  such  as  digestion  and  circulation, 
and  purely  psychical,  or  conscious,  functions.  By  this  distinction 
they  implicitly  refer  the  physiological  functions  to  the  physiological 
organism,  the  body,  and  the  psychical  functions  to  a  conscious 
functioner,  the  self.*  Psychology  may  well  treat  this  conscious 
functioner  as  its  peculiar  subject-matter. 

A  final  objection  is  urged  against  self-psychology  (and,  for  that 
matter,  against  functional  psychology)  by  the  idea-psychologists. 
These  claim  that  the  structural  analysis  into  elements  —  sensa- 
tional, "affective,  and  the  like  —  is  possible  only  if  consciousness  be 
conceived  as  stream  of  ideas.  If  this  objection  were  well-founded, 
it  would  be  decisive;  for  it  is  evident  that  perception,  for  example, 
is  sensational ;  that  emotion  is  affective  —  in  a  word,  that  con- 
sciousness is  incompletely  described  without  the  structural  analysis 
into  elements.  But  the  self-psychologist  rightly  denies  the  prem- 
iss of  this  argument.  One  can  as  well  analyze  *  my  perceiving' 
as  'a  percept'  into  sensational  elements;  one  can  as  well  reduce 
*  my  fear'  as  'a  fear'  to  elements  among  which  unpleasantness 
and  organic  sensations  are  prominent. 

*  Cf .  Journal  of  Philosophy,  V.,  p.  13. 


278  Supplement  to  Chapter  I.  [Pages 

2.   Positive  Considerations 

The  answer  to  objections  is  an  insufficient  basis  for  any  theor}'. 
The  doctrine  of  psychology  as  science  of  self  has,  however,  a  more 
independent  foundation  —  the  testimony  of  introspection.  Because 
I  am  directly  conscious  of  a  unique,  a  relatively  persisting  self  in 
relation  to  its  environment,  therefore  I  assert  the  existence  of  a  self 
and  scientifically  study  its  constituents  and  relations. 

It  follows  that  the  self-psychologist  has  no  way  of  answering  an 
opponent  who  asserts,  "I  have  no  consciousness  of  self."  In 
other  words,  psychology  as  science  of  selves  can  be  studied  only  by 
one  who  believes,  or  assumes,  that  he  is  directly  conscious  of  him- 
self. But  even  to  an  opponent  who  denies  the  fact  from  which  he 
starts,  the  self-psychologist  can  at  least  show  the  plausibility  or 
respectability  of  his  position  by  pointing  out,  first,  that  some  or  all 
of  those  who  deny  the  existence  of  a  self-for-psychology  implicitly 
assume  the  existence  of  such  a  self;  and  second,  that  many  psy- 
chologists of  admitted  worth  explicitly  adopt  the  conception. 

To  substantiate  the  first  of  these  statements,  one  has  only  to 
read  the  books  of  the  idea-psychologists  and  to  notice  how  con- 
stantly they  describe  and  define  consciousness  in  terms  of  the  self, 
or  I.  Professor  Ebbinghaus,  for  example,  though  he  describes 
the  soul  as  "nothing  save  (nichts  ausser)  the  totality"  of  mental 
contents,  none  the  less  says  that  the  soul  is  "a  being,"  that  it  "has 
thoughts,  sensations,  wishes,  is  attentive  or  inattentive,  remembers 
{erinnert  5/'c/^),  etc."  *  And  Dr.  Witasek,  though  he  teaches  that 
"  we  ( ! )  find  in  our  consciousness  only  ideas,  feelings,  etc.,  and  not 
something  else  besides  which  should  be  fundamental  to  them," 
yet  says  unequivocally:  "Psychic  facts  belong  to  individuals: 
a  feeling,  for  example,  is  either  mine  or  somebody  else's."  f 

The  idea-psychologist  has,  it  is  true,  two  answers  A  this  charge 
of  making  implicit  use  of  the  conception  of  self .  In/the  first  place, 
he  urges  that  he  means  by  'self,'  as  he  uses  the  term,  merely  my 


*  "Abriss  der  Psychologic,"  1908,  4,  p.  41. 

t  "  Grundlinien  der  Psychologie,"  1908,  I.  Teil,  Kap.  2,  pp.  42,  38.    (The 
exclamation  point  mine.)     Cf.  pp.  100,  231,  350. 


3-6]  Appendix,  Seclion  /.,   §  i  279 

body  —  either  my  physical  organism  as  a  whole  or  my  nervous  system 
in  particular.  But  in  this  case  he  should  regard  the  l)ody,  not  the 
mind,  as  the  real  object  of  psychology;  and  this  is  foreign  to  the 
point  of  view  of  idea-psychology.  Again,  liie  opjjonent  of  self-p.sy- 
chology  justifies  his  use  of  its  words  by  the  oi)servation  that,  j)rovided 
he  deline  his  terms,  he  has  a  right  to  employ  everyday  language 
in  a  technical  sense.  If,  then,  he  define  'mind'  as  'sum-total  of 
ideas,'  and  'self  or  '  I '  as  'human  body,'  he  may  say  "  I  fear,"  and 
should  be  understood  to  mean:  "A  process  occurs  which  is  re- 
ferred to  the  human  body,  and  is  analyzable  into  unpleasantness 
and  organic  sensations."  The  conventional  expression,  'I,'  he 
holds,  no  more  binds  the  user  to  the  obvious  ever^'day  meaning 
of  it  than  the  remark  "the  sun  has  set"  marks  an  advocate  of  the 
Ptolemaic  thcor\'  of  astronomy.  One  may  reply  to  this  argument 
by  carrying  the  illustration  further.  Surely,  no  Copcrniran, 
particularly  in  the  days  when  the  doctrine  was  still  in  (lisi)ute, 
would  have  claimed  the  right  to  describe  astronomical  phenomena 
in  terms  of  the  Ptolemaic  theory.  Similarly,  the  opponent  of  self- 
psychology  should  describe  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  with- 
out use  of  a  term  which,  to  say  the  least,  predisjioses  his  reader  to 
substitute  for  the  conception  of  self  as  body,  and  of  mind  as  sum 
of  ideas,  the  conception,  explicitly  defied,  of  conscious  self  in 
relation  to  environment.  The  self-psychologist  has  then  some 
right  to  urge  that  idea-psychologists  are  implicitly  assuming  or 
leading  their  readers  to  assume  the  existence  of  a  self,  when  they 
describe  consciousness  in  such  words  as  "I  attend  to  a  color," 
"I  perceive  objects";  and  still  more  when  they  mark  off  certain 
experiences  as  peculiarly  personal;  that  is,  as  especially  related  to 
myself.  ; 

In  addition  to  these  cfytillenged  implications  of  self,  many  un- 
compromising assertions/that  psychology  is  science  of  the  self  may 
be  found  i\the  writi/gs  of  contemi)orary  psychologists,  though 
they  often  substitute,  fibr  the  word  'self,'  some  one  of  the  expressions, 
subject,  ego,  miiHl,  </  even  soul.  Thus,  Professor  Ward  defines  the 
standpoint  of  psychology  as  that  'of  the  living  subject  in  intercourse 
with   his   special   environment.'     And   Professor   Judd   says   ex- 


28o  Supplement  to  Chapter  I.  [Pages 

plicitly,  "Psychology  deals  with  the  self."  Other  supporters  of 
self-psychology,  and  its  critics  as  well,  are  cited  in  the  bibliography 
at  the  close  of  this  section. 

II.   The  Conception  of  the  Object  in  Psychology 

§  2.  The  conception  of  object  which  this  book  sets  forth  is  so 
likely  to  be  misunderstood,  that  it  will  here  be  amplified.  It 
should  first  be  noted  that  the  standpoint  from  which  one  speaks  of 
objects  of  the  self  is,  as  James  says,  dualistic;  but  that  it  is  psy- 
chologically, not  ultimately,  dualistic,  so  that  the  monist  in  phi- 
losophy may,  as  psychologist,  unconcernedly  adopt  it.  The  basis  of 
the  conception  is  the  fact  that  I  always  find  myself  conscious  of  an 
object:  of  myself  or  my  experience,  of  other  self  or  thing  or 
relation.  More  fully  stated:  In  being  conscious,  I  am  always 
conscious  (even  if  vaguely  conscious)  of  myself  as  related  either  to 
an  object  or  to  that  totality  of  objects  which  I  call  my  environment. 
Psychology,  if  it  is  to  take  account  of  the  self,  must,  therefore,  take 
account  of  the  object.  Indeed,  all  psychologists,  whether  or  not 
they  purport  to  study  the  self,  really  describe  and  classify  conscious- 
ness with  reference  to  objects.  They  classify  attention,  for  ex- 
ample, as  sensational  or  intellectual,  according  as  one  attends  to 
sensational  or  to  unsensational  objects ;  or  they  refer  to  color  and 
to  tone  not  only  as  sensations,  but  as  existing  outside  eye  or  ear. 
This  book  follows  Ward  and  James  in  the  explicit  recognition  of 
the  object  of  consciousness.  In  the  words  of  the  former: 
"Psychology  deals  with  the  subjective  standpoint  of  individual 
experience,  but  we  find  that  in  this  experience  both  subject  and 
object  are  factors."  *  Or,  to  quote  Professor  Mitchell  (who,  how- 
ever, for  'object'  uses  the  word  'content'),  "  When  conscious,  I  am 
always  conscious  of  a  definite  something  or  other;  and  this  is 
called  the  content  of  my  experience  or  consciousness."  f 

It  is  important  to  emphasize  the  wideness  of  application  of  the 
word  'object,'  thus  used,  and  expressly  to  repudiate  certain  incor- 

*  British  Journal  of  Psychology  (cited  p.  283),  I.,  i,  p.  17. 
t  "  Structure  and  Growth  of  the  Mind,"  Lecture  I.,  §  3,  p.  11.     Mitchell 
defines  '  object '  as  content  of  knowledge  or  thought. 


;-6]  Appendix,  Section  /.,  §2  281 

rcct  uses  of  tlie  term.  The  object  of  the  psw  hological  self  may  take 
one  of  several  forms,  and  cannot  therefore  he  forthwith  identified 
with  any  one  of  them.  These  forms,  already  enumerated,*  are  the 
following:  (1)  public  objects  of  many  or  all  selves  whether  (a) 
personal  (that  is,  other  selves)  or  (/>)  impersonal,  and  in  this  ca.se, 
either  external  j)hysical  objects,  or  non-external  relations,  laws, 
and  the  like;  (2)  private,  or  psychological,  objects,  either  (a) 
myself,  in  relation  to  environment,  or  {h)  my  experiences.  Our 
greatest  danger  is  that  of  confusing  the  object,  in  the  general  and 
inclusive  sense,  with  the  public  object  —  what  Ward  calls  the 
cpistemological  object  . —  and  especially  with  the  external  object 
of  the  physical  sciences.  It  is  permissible,  however,  but  only 
where  no  ambiguity  thereby  arises,  to  use  the  word  '  object '  in 
what  was  perhaps  its  primary  meaning,  as  indicating  the  'other- 
than-myself '  (that  is,  as  including  all  forms  of  object  except  the 
private  personal  object),  f  and  even  to  use  the  term,  in  either  of 
the  narrower  senses,  to  mean  '  public  '  or  '  external '  object. 

A  common  confusion  of  the  object  with  one  special  form  of 
external  object  must  be  avoided  with  particular  care.  By  the 
object  of  the  self  or  of  consciousness  is  never  meant  the  stimulus, 
physical  or  physiological,  of  consciousness.  The  two  are,  indeed, 
to  be  contrasted  sharply.  When  the  object  of  my  consciousness  is, 
for  example,  the  theatre  curtain,  the  physical  stimuli  are  ether 
vibrations,  and  the  physiological  excitations  are  obscure  processes  in 
retina  and  in  brain  of  which  I  need  never  have  heard  and  which,  at 
best,  I  infer  and  do  not  perceive.  In  a  word,  the  physical  and 
physiological  stimuli  of  consciousness  are  the  phenomena  of  phys- 
ical science,  usually  inferred,  not  perceived,  whereas  the  object  of 
consciousness  is  that  of  which  I  am  conscious,  without  reference 
to  which  I  cannot  adequately  describe  my  consciousness. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  in  Chapter  I.  that  important  questions 
are  raised  by  the  conception  of  the  ol)jcct  of  consciousness:  a 
fundamental  question  about  the  identity  of  subject  and  object ;  a 
second  question  about  the  alleged  externality  of  objects  of  percep- 

*Cf.  Chapter  I.,  p.  4. 

fTWs  is  Ward's  use  of  the  term  '  psychological  object.' 


/ 


282  Supplement  to  Chapter  I.  [Pages 

tion;  and,  we  may  licrc  add,  a  sj^ccial  problem  about  the  precise 
nature  of  the  objects  of  the  rehitional  consciousness.  None  of 
these  questions,  it  must  be  reiterated,  force  themselves  upon  the 
psychologist  so  long  as  he  holds  steadily  to  his  own  business, 
the  description  and  ex])lanation  of  consciousness,  regarded  as  the 
relation  of  self  to  environment.  The  ])S3^chologist,  in  other  words, 
assumes,  on  the  testimony  of  his  direct  consciousness,  that  a  self 
related  to  object  exists.  By  reflection,  he  distinguishes  different 
attitudes  of  self  and  different  forms  of  the  object.  The  ultimate 
nature  of  both  he  leaves  to  the  philosopher  to  discuss. 


III.   Bibliography  on  Fundamental  Conceptions 
OF  Psychology 

(a)  On  psychology  as  science  of  self,  as  science  of  ideas,  as  science  of 
functions:  (i)  Summary:  M.  W.  Calkins,  Psychology:  What  is  it 
About,  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific  Method,  1907, 
Vol.  IV.,  pp.  673  ff. ;    1908,  pp.  12  ff.,  64  ff.,  113  ff. 

(2)  On  structural  psychology :  E.  B.  Titchener,  The  Postulates  of  a 
Structural  Psychology,  Philos.  Reinew,  1898,  VII.,  pp.  449  H.;  A  Text- 
book of  Psychology,  1909,  §§  2-9.  F.  H.  Bradley,  A  Defence  of  Phe- 
nomenalism in  Psychology,  Mind,  1900,  N.S.  IX.,  pp.  26  ff.  H.  Miin- 
sterberg,  Grundzuge  der  Psychologie,  Kapitel  II. 

(3)  On  functional  psychology:  J.  R.  Angell,  The  Province  of  Func- 
tional Psychology,  Psychol.  Review,  XIV.,  pp.  63  H.  K.  Stumpf,  Er- 
scheinungen  und  psychische  Funktionen,  1907. 

(4)  For  criticisms  of  self -psychology:  W.  B.  Pillsbury,  The  Ego  and 
Empirical  Psychology,  Philos.  Review,  XVI.,  pp.  387  ff,  E.  B.  Titchener, 
ibid.,  1906,  XV.,  pp.  93  ff.  M.  F.  Washburn,  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
II.,  p.  716. 

(5)  On  self -psychology :  M.  W.  Calkins,  An  Introduction  to  Psy- 
chology, 1901,  1905,  Der  doppelte  Standpunkt  in  der  Psychologie,  1905; 
A  Reconciliation  between  Structural  and  Functional  Psychology, 
Psychol.  Review,  1906,  XIII.,  pp.  61  ff. ;  Psychology:  What  is  it  About 
(cited  above).  W.  Mitchell,  Structure  and  Growth  of  the  Mind,  1907, 
Lecture  I.,esp.  §§  3,  5,  7.  J.  Rehmke,  Lehrbuch  der  AUgemeinen  Psy- 
chologie, Iter  Teil,  esp.  §§  11,  12.  W.  Stern,  "Person  und  Sache, 
System  der  philosophischen  Weltanschauung,"  I.     J.  Ward,  On  the 


3-6]  Appendix,  Section  III.  283 

Definition  of  Psychology,  British  Journal  0/  Psychology,  1904,  I.,  pp.  i  IT.; 
EncyclopcE'iia  Britannica,  Vol.  XX.,  article  P.sycholo<^y,  pp.  38,  39. 

(b)  On  the  conception  of  the  object:  Cf.  Mitchell  and  Ward,  cited  above. 
Also,  W.  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  VIII., 
pp.  218  fT. ;  Chapter  IX.,  pp.  271  fT.  IT.  Miinsterberg,  Grundziige  der 
Psychologic,  pp.  65  fF.,  esp.  p.  72;  and  Psychotherapy,  VI.,  pp.  130  (T. 

(c)  On  parallelism  in  psychology:  H.  Ehbinghaus,  Grundziige  der 
Psychologic,  1902,  I.,  §4,  pp.  27  ff.  (For  the  opposite  view,  cf.  James, 
op.  cit.,  I.,  Chapter  V.,  esp.  pp.  128-138.  G.  S.  Stratton,  Modified 
Causation  for  Psychology,  Psychol.  Bulletin,  1907,  IV.,  129  fT. 

(d)  For  criticisms  {mainly  metaphysical)  of  the  conception  of  con- 
sciousness :  W.  James,  Does  Consciousness  Exist  ?  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
etc.,  I.,  pp.  477  ff.  R.  B.  Perry,  Conceptions  and  Misconceptions  of  Con- 
sciousness, Psychol.  Review,  XL,  pp.  282  fT.  F.  J.  E.  Woodbridge,  The 
Problem  of  Consciousness,  Garman  Commemorative  Volume,  pp.  137  fT. 
(Cf.  Journal  of  Philosophy,  1907,  IV.,  p.  677,  for  further  references  to 
James,  Bawden,  Montague;   and  for  comments.) 


SECTION   II. 

Perception  and  Imagination 

Note  on  the  '  reflective  observation '  of  perception  and  imagination 
{cf.  Chapter  II.,  p.  12).  The  discussion  of  perception  introduces  the 
important  distinction  between  an  immediate  consciousness  and  the 
reflective  observation  of  such  a  consciousness.  Reflective  observation 
is  the  after-consciousness  of  an  earlier  experience,  the  psychologist's 
awareness  of  an  experience  —  his  own  or  another's.  To  say  that  I  am 
immediately  conscious  of  the  characters  or  relations  which  only  after- 
reflection  attributes  to  my  experience  is  to  commit  what  James  calls 
the  psychologist's  fallacy.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  immediate  and 
reflective  observation  may  coincide.  In  any  case,  it  is  as  allowable  to 
classify  an  experience  by  taking  account  of  the  characters  regularly 
attributed  to  it  in  after-reflection  as  to  classify  it  by  reference  to 
physiological  conditions. 

Bibliography.  —  G.  T.  Fechner,  Elementc  der  Psychophysik,  i860, 
Bd.  II.,  XLIV.  F.  Galton,  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty.  W.  James, 
op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  Chapter  XVIII.  O.  Kulpe,  Outline  of  P.sychology, 
English  translation,  1895,  §§  27,  28.  W.  Lay,  Mental  Imagery,  Psychol. 
Review  Monograph  Supplement,  1898.  G.  H.  Lewes,  Principles  of 
Success  in  Literature,  Chapter  III.  Strieker,  Studien  iiber  die  Sprach- 
vorstellungen,  1880.  J.  Sully,  The  Human  Mind,  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  X. 
M.  G.  Caldwell,  A  Study  of  the  Sense-Epithets  of  Shelley  and  Keats 
(Wellesley  College  Psychological  Studies).  Poet  Lore,  1898,  Vol.  X., 
PP-  573  ff- 


284 


SECTION   III. 

A.   The  IIuman  Body  from  thk  Psychologist's 

Standpoint 

§  I.  It  is  not  the  specific  province  of  jjsychoUigy  to  study  the 
human  body,  yet  the  psychologist  must  possess  an  acquaintance 
with  the  structure  and  functions  of  the  body  in  order  to  explain  and 
to  classify  those  facts  about  the  conscious  self  which  are  the  proper 
objects  of  his  investigation.  A  formal  definition  of  'the  body'  need 
not  here  be  attempted.  It  may  be  described  first  in  its  relation 
to  myself;  second,  in  comparison  with  other  objects.  From  the 
first  point  of  view,  my  body  is  an  ol)ject  of  which  I  am  sensationally 
conscious;  it  is  the  object  of  which  I  am  most  persistently  con- 
scious; and  it  is,  finally,  a  medium  of  relation  between  me  and 
other  external  olijects.  From  the  second  standpoint,  —  that  is,  in 
com])arison  with  other  objects,  —  the  body  is  an  organism,  a  sy.s- 
tematic-  complex  of  structures  and  activities  such  that  each  is  sub- 
ordinated to  the  whole. 

The  function  of  the  body  as,  so  to  speak,  midterm  between  self 
and  external  things  is  due  to  two  fundamental  characters:  it  is 
readily  affected  by  environing  ol)jects  and,  in  turn,  it  easily  affects 
them.  Though  it  consist,  as  in  the  case  of  the  protozocin,  of  a 
single  cell,  that  cell  affects,  and  is  affected  by,  its  environment. 
The  amoeba,  for  example,  moves  aside  from  an  ol)stacle,  attaches 
itself  to  a  solid  body,  and  unites  these  forms  of  reaction  by  [)ro- 
jecting  ])arts  of  its  body  and  closing  them  over  food.* 

But  though  all  living  cells  are  fundamentally  alike  in  function, 
yet  with  the  development  of  the  animal  body  there  goes  on  in  the 
cells  a  progressive  differentiation  both  in  structure  and  in  fimction. 
The  changes  of  especial  importance  to  the  psychologist  are  the 

*  M.  F.  Washburn,  "Thr  .Animal  Mind,"  pp.  39-40. 


z^^^- 


.^Ry 


..  OF  THE 

1/ ....-r-.f>l  f\M 


286  Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 

following:  Certain  structures,  known  as  sense-organs,  situated  for 
the  most  part  on  the  bodil\'  surfaces,  become  specially  adapted  to 
excitation  by  the  environment;  other  organs,  bones  and  muscles, 
take  over  the  essential  function  of  motor  reaction  to  the  environ- 
ment; and  connecting  the  two  (though  histologically  closely  re- 
lated to  the  sense-organs)  is  the  group  of  structures  known  as 
the  nervous  system. 

I.  THE  MOTOR  STRUCTURES  OF  THE  BODY 

§  2.  For  the  purposes  of  the  psychologist  it  is  sufficient  merely 
to  name  the  muscles,  masses  of  contractile  tissue,  penetrated  by 
blood-vessels,  most  of  them  ending  in  tendons,  fibrous  cords  which 
are  connected  with  the  more  than  two  hundred  hones  of  the  body. 
The  bones,  moving  on  each  other  at  the  joints,  form  a  peculiarly 
flexible  framework. 

JSIotions  of  internal  organs  —  for  example,  heart-beat  and 
movements  of  the  alimentary  canal  —  are  the  contractions  of  the 
muscles  composing  these  organs. 

n.    THE    CEREBRO-SPINAL   NERVOUS    SYSTEM 

§  3.  From  this  reference  to  the  specifically  motor  and  the  defi- 
nitely sensor)^  organs  of  the  body,  we  turn  to  the  closer  study  of 
the  structure  connecting  the  two.  Rudimentar}^  forms  of  such  a 
connective  system  are  found  low  in  the  biological  scale,  among  the 
simpler  (if  not  the  simplest)  of  the  metazoa.  Beginning  with  the 
lowest  of  the  vertebrates,  we  find  the  essential  features  of  a  cerebro- 
spinal nen'ous  system  —  a  central  system  of  nerve-centres  con- 
nected on  the  one  hand  with  all  the  sensory  surfaces  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  directly  connected  with  all  the  skeletal  muscles,  and 
indirectly  connected  with  the  internal  organs.  (Besides  the 
cerebro-spinal  nervous  system,  the  body  contains  both  scattered 
'sporadic  ganglia,'  and  a  number  of  nerv-e-centres,  loosely  united, 
the  so-called  'sympathetic  nerve  system.'  These  centres,  which 
are  partly  '  self-directing,'  partly  e.xcited  through  the  central  ner- 
vous system,  control  the  activity  of  the  internal  organs,  digestive, 
respiratory,  and  circulator}^) 


Appendix,  Section  III.,   §4 


287 


a.    Nerve-elcments:   Neurones 

§  4.  The  cerel)n)  sj^inal  nervous  system  is  made  up  of  connected 
nerve-centres;  and  a  nerve-centre  is  a  tangled  mass  of  neurones, 
or  branching  cells  which  are  anatomically  distinct.  The  structu- 
rally distinguishable  parts  of  a  typical  neurone  are  the  following: 


Fig.  6.  —  Motor  cell  of  gray  matter  of  cord.  From  human  fetus.  The  asterisk 
(*)  marks  the  axone;  the  other  branches  are  dendrites.  From  W.  H.  Howell, 
".\  Te.xt-book  of  Physiology,"  Fig.  54  (after  Lenhossek.) 


(i)  the  cell-body,  a  bit  of  ])rotoplasm  containing  a  nucleus;  and 
(2)  nenc-processes,  prolonged  from  the  cell-body,  of  two  sorts,  {a) 
the  dendrites,  broad  in  their  origin  from  the  cell-body  and  devious 
in  their  course,  which  give  off  intricately  branching,  'antler-like' 
processes  beginning  near  the  cell-body,  and  (/»)  the  axone,  a  nar- 
row tibre,  usually  direct  in  its  course.     The  axone  is  either  a  long 


288  Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 

t'ibrc,  enclosed  in  an  albuminous  covering  (the  medullary  sheath), 
giving  off  few  branches  until  it  breaks  up  into  a  bunch  of  fibres  at 
the  end,  or  it  is  a  short  fibre  "breaking  up  in  a  dendritic  manner  into 
a  large  number  of  fine  branches."  *  As  a  whole,  the  neurone  has 
been  said  to  resemble  "a  bit  of  string  frayed  out  at  both  ends  and 
here  and  there  along  its  course."  f 

Neurones  are  embedded  in  a  spongy  substance,  called  neuroglia. 
Masses  in  which  cell-bodies  predominate  are  called  ganglia  and 
are  grayish  in  color,  because  the  fibres  which  they  contain  are  with- 
out medullary  sheath.  Masses  in  which  nen^e  fibres  predominate 
are  called  'nerves,'  and  look  white.  The  nerve  impulse  is 
conducted,  in  the  human  body,  at  the  rate  of  approximately  t^t^ 
meters  (loo  feet)  per  second,  by  the  nen^e  fibres;  it  spreads  from 
the  terminal  fibres  of  the  axone  of  one  neurone  to  the  contiguous 
dendrites  — ■  sometimes  to  the  cell-body  —  of  another.  According 
to  the  direction  in  which  the  nerve  impulse  is  conducted,  nerves  are 
distinguished  as  (i)  afferent,  or  ingoing,  nerves  which  convey  in- 
ward the  impulse  communicated  from  some  outer  stimulus;  and 
(2)  efferent,  or  outgoing,  nerves  which  convey  the  nerve  excitation 
to  a  muscle.  Midway  between  the  two  are  found  (3)  the  neurones 
of  the  nerve-centres  of  brain  and  spinal  cord,  whose  function  seems 
to  be  the  redistribution,  perhaps  the  modification,  of  the  excitation 
conveyed  by  afferent  nerves.  Some  psychologists  hold  that  the 
function  of  redistribution  belongs  peculiarly  to  the  cell-bodies. 

h.  Nerve-centres 

I.    The  Spinal  Cord 

§  5.  Aside  from  the  sympathetic  system,  there  are  two  main  groups 
of  ner\'e-centres ;  that  is,  of  neurones  massed  together,  those  of  spinal 
cord  and  of  brain.  The  spinal  cord,  enclosed  in  its  bony  sheath 
of  linked  vertebrae,  contains  fibres  which  run  (i)  inward  from  the 
surface  of  trunk  and  of  limbs,  (2)  outward,  and  (3)  up  and  down 

*  L.  F.  Barker,  "The  Nervous  System  and  its  Constituent  Neurones," 
J).  12. 

t  E.  L.  Thorndike,  "The  Elements  of  Psychology,"  p.  126. 


Appendix,  Section  III.,   §  5 


289 


Of  the   up-and-down   fibres, 


within  the  cord.  The  afTcrcnt  (ingoing)  filjres  enter  through  the 
spinal  ganglia,  which  lie  inside  the  sjjinal  column  but  outside  the 
cord  in  the  posterior  nerve-roots.  The  efferent  (outgoing)  fibres 
are  found  in  the  anterior  roots, 
some  connect  diflfcrent  levels  of  the 
cord,  while  others  connect  the  cord 
with  the  brain.  The  outer  por- 
tion of  the  cord  is  made  up  mainly 
of  axones  each  in  its  medullar}' 
sheath;  the  inner  portion  consists 
chiefly  of  cell-bodies  and  of  den- 
drites, but  contains  also  axones 
with  and  without  medullary 
sheaths. 

When  an  excitation  is  trans- 
mitted by  an  afferent  nerve  to  the 
spinal  cord,  it  may  either  be  im- 
mediately redistributed  by  the 
spinal  nerve-centres  to  an  efferent 
nerve,  or  it  may  be  transmitted 
along  one  of  the  upward  fibres  to 
a  redistributing  centre  in  the  brain. 
The  immediate  spinal  reaction  is 
unaccompanied  by  consciousness, 
a  fact  established  l)y  the  experi- 
mental observation  that  uncon- 
scious movements  of  a  limb,  in 
response  to  stimulation  of  the  skin, 
occur  after  such  injury  to  the  spinal  cord  as  prevents  transmission 
of  e.xcitation  to  the  brain.  The  spinal  cord  is  thus,  first,  a  centre 
for  unconscious  reflex  movements  from  cutaneous  stimulation, 
and  second,  a  transmitter  of  excitations  to  the  brain.  Many  of 
the  fibres  running  downward  from  the  brain  to  the  spinal  cord 
cross  from  the  right  side  of  the  brain  to  the  left  side  of  the  cord 
(Figure  8) ;  and  consequently  the  stimulation  of  one  side  of  tlie 
brain  is  followed  by  motion  of  the  opposite  side  of  the  body. 


Fig.  7.  —  ijcliL-niatic  figure  of  the 
spinal  cord.  Posterior  ganglion,  x; 
affiTent  nerve,  y;  efferent  nerve,  z. 
From  W.  H.  HoweU,  "A  Te.xt-book 
of  Physiologv,"  Fig.  62  (after 
Kolliker). 


290 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


2.    The  Brain 

§  6.  It  is  not  possiljle  to  give  an  accurate  verbal  description  of 
the  brain;  and  its  complicated  structure  can  be  fully  understood 
only  if  one  trace  its  development  from  the  lowest  vertebrate  form. 
For  the  present  purposes  of  psychology  the  student  should  familiar- 


Fig.  8. — Schematic  transverse  section  of  the  brain  through  the  Rolandic 
region.  S,  Fissure  of  Sylvius;  N.C.  and  N.L.  (parts  of  a  corpus  striatum)  and 
O.T.  (optic  thalamus),  interior  ganglia  of  the  brain;  C,  one  of  the  crura  cerebri 
(bundles  of  up-and-down  neurones);  M,  one  side  of  the  medulla  oblongata;  VII., 
the  facial  nerves.  From  James,  "Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  Fig.  43  (after 
Starr). 

ize  himself  with  diagrams,  or  })referably  with  models  of  the  brain, 
and  should  distinguish  between  (i)  lower  brain  (medulla,  cerebel- 
lum, pons,, and  crura,  (2)  interior  brain  (the  basal  nerve-centres 
enclosed  within  the   hemispheres,  N.  C,  N.  L.,  and  O.  T.  in 


Appendix,  Sec  tit)  II   III.,   §  6 


291 


iMgure  8),  and  (3)  the  hemisplicres,  or  corlex.  Lower  brain  and 
interior  brain  consist  of  nerve-centres,  connected  by  transverse 
hljres,  and  j)enetrated  also  by  upward  and  downward  fibres,  con- 
necting them,  as  the  diagram  suggests,  with  tlie  spinal  centres  and 
with  the  hemis])iieres.  They  therefore  transmit  to  the  hemi- 
spheres excitations  origi- 
nated in  lower  portions  of 
tiie  body,  and  they  are  also 
centres  for  the  redistribu- 
tion both  of  nervous  im- 
pulses, transmitted  by  the 
spinal  cord,  and  of  excita- 
tions conducted  to  them 
directly  by  the  facial  nerves 
and  by  the  nerves  of  the 
special  senses.  In  one 
centre  of  the  lower  brain 
(the  medulla)  there  are 
also  automatic  centres, 
masses  of  cells  which  coor- 
dinate excitations  from  the 
interior  of  the  body  and 
regulate"  such  automatic 
movements  as  the  heart- 
beat, breathing,  and  sneez- 
ing. (The  two  hemi-  ogy,"  Fig.  4  (after  Meynert). 
spheres,  also,  are  connected 
with  each  other  by  transverse  neurones.) 

It  is  a  moot  question  whether  sense-consciousness  accompanies 
the  functioning  of  these  lower  and  interior  centres.  The  proba- 
bility,* however,  is  that  in  the  case  of  the  lower  vertebrates,  with 
less  develo])ed  hemis])heres,  the  excitation  of  lower  and  of  interior 
brain  is  accompanied  by  consciousness,  and  that,  on  the  contrary, 
excitation  of  the  hemispheres  is  necessary  to  human  conscious- 
ness. It  is  certain  that  excitation  of  the  hemispheres  is  the  es- 
*  H.  Donaldson,  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  IV. 


b   o 


Fig.  9.  —  Schematic  figure  to  illustrate  re- 
flex and  ideo-motor  movements.  Adapted 
from  W.  James,  "The  Principles  of  Psychol- 


?92 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


sential  ccrcliral  condition  of  memory  and  of  foresight.  The  l)odily 
movements  characteristic  of  cerebral  activity  are,  therefore,  no 
longer  the  unconscious  reflexes  of  the  spinal  cord  nor  even  acts  of 
which  one  has  a  bare  sense-perception ;  they  are  deliberative  acts 
performed  with  a  memory  of  past  results  and  an  image  of  future 
happenings.  It  follows  that  the  response  to  a  particular  stimulation 
is  not,  as  in  the  case  of  a  spinal  reflex,  inevitable  and  determined. 
We  may  illustrate  this  by  a  diagram  (Figure  9).  The  unconscious 
spinal  reflex  (a-b-f-g),  following  upon  the  touch  of  a  hot  sur- 
face, is  the  withdrawal  of  the  hand.  Suppose,  however,  that  the 
stimulus  conducted  by  the  afferent  nerve  (a-h-r)  is  transmitted  to 
the  hemispheres  instead  of  being  at  once  redistributed  in  the  spinal 
centres.  The  centre  (e),  corresponding  with  the  sensation  of 
warmth,  is  first  stimulated,  but  the  impulse  is  at  once  transrnitted 
to  other  brain-centres  (y  and  x)  and  the  total  cortical  excitation 
is  accompanied  by  the  conscious  reflection  that  a  hot  application 
will  cure  neuralgic  pain.  The  efferent  nerve  (d),  which  is  finally 
stimulated,  in  turn  excites  a  muscle  whose  contraction  checks  the 
instinctive  movement  away  from  the  hot  surface.  Thus  the  motor 
response  {d-h-i),  to  the  excitation  transmitted  to  the  hemispheres,  is 
a  firmer  grasp  of  the  heated  object,  whereas  the  instinctive  spinal 
reflex  (a-b-f-g)  would  have  consisted  in  the  withdrawal  of  the  hand. 
The  following  table  summarizes  these  distinctions  of  bodily  activity 
and  consciousness  as  associated  with  different  nen^e-centres :  — 


Organ 
Spinal  cord. 


Function 
Conduction, 
Redistribution. 


Activity 

Cutaneous 

reflex. 


No  conscious- 
ness. 


Lower  brain. 


Conduction, 
Redistribution. 


Automatic. 


No  conscious- 
ness. 


Interior  brain. 


Conduction, 
Redistribution. 


Special-reflex. 


Sense-conscious- 
ness ( ?) 


Cerebral  hemi- 
spheres 
(cortex). 


Redistribution.      Deliberative. 


Perception, 
Memory, 
Thought,  etc. 


Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  7 


293 


§  7.  It  is  possible  to  study,  in  even  greater  detail,  the  relation 
of  the  excitation  of  the  cortex  to  different  functions  of  con- 
sciousness. For  this  purpose,  it  is  necessary  to  gain  a  clearer 
notion  of  the  conformation  of  the  hemispheres.  It  has  been  shown 
already  that  the  immense  expansion  of  each  hemisphere  results  in  a 
folding  of  its  surface  in  upon  itself.  Each  hemisphere  thus  con- 
sists of  an  irregular  mass  of  folds,  the  convolutions,  separated  by 
deep  gullies,  the  fissures.     The  most  important  of  these  appear' 


F  rONTAL 


Fig.  10.  —  Outer  surface  of  the  right  hemisphere.    From  M.  Foster,  "  A  Text- 
book, of  Physiology,"  Fig.  134. 


very  early  in  the  growth  of  each  embryonic  hemisphere,  on  its  outer 
surface.  They  are  the  fissure  of  Sylvius,  which  starts  from  a  point 
below  and  in  front  of  the  middlqgjf  each  hemisphere  (cf.  Figure  g), 
and  runs  backward,  curving  upward  at  its  termination;  and  the 
fissure  of  Rolando,  which  runs  downward  and  forward,  from  the 
median,  ui)])cr  part  of  each  hemisphere  (Figure  9)  to  a  point  near 
to  that  where  the  fissure  of  Sylvius  begins.  These  fissures  and 
others  form  the  basis  of  the  ordinary  division  of  the  hemisphere 
into  five  areas,  or  lobes.  Roughly  speaking,  the  frontal  lobe  lies 
forward  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando  and  above  the  fissure  of  Sylvius; 
the  parietal  lobe  lies  back  of  the  frontal,  and  also  above  the  fissure 


294 


Supplemcnl  to  CJiapter  III. 


of  Sylvius;  the  occipital  lobe  lies  behind  the  parietal,  and  is  sepa- 
rated from  it  by  a  fissure  which  appears  most  definitely  on  the 
median  side  of  the  hemisphere;  and  the  temporal  lobe  lies  below 
the  fissure  of  Sylvius  and  forward  of  the  occipital  lobe.  (The 
fifth  lobe,  the  'island  of  Reil,'  is  folded  in  within  the  temporal  and 
the  parietal  lobes,  and  is  not  represented  in  the  diagram.)  On  the 
median  surface  of  the  hemisphere  (cf.  Figure  lo),  it  is  important 
to  distinguish,  first,  the  triangular  area  of  the  occipital  lobe,  called 


qb^ 


F.  Folanclo 


Fig.  I] 
Fig-  135- 


■Median  surface  of  the  right  hemisphere.    From  M.  Foster,  o/>.  c/t. 


from  its  wedge  shape  the  cuneus;  second,  the  convolution  along 
the  upper  edge,  called  'marginal';  and  finally,  the  curving  con- 
volution, called  the  iincinale  (or  hippocampus). 

The  study  of  cortical  areas  is  important  to  the  psychologist  only 
for  the  following  reason :  investigation  has  shown  that  the  excita- 
tion of  certain  parts  of  the  corte.x  is  accompanied  by  definite  forms 
of  sense-consciousness  and  of  bodily  movement.  There  is  much 
dispute,  among  the  anatomists,  about  special  features  of  cere- 
bral localization,  but  the  following  results  may  be  accepted  as 
practically  assured :  — 

The  excitation  of  the  occipital  lobe,  especially  of  that  portion  of 


Appendix,  Sciilou   III.,   §7 


295 


its  median  surfaic  known  as  tlio  cuncus  (Figure  ii),  is  tlic 
cortical  'centre'  of  the  visual  perception  of  the  different  colors 
and  hues,  and  is  the  centre,  also,  of  movements  of  the  eye-muscles.* 


Fig.  12.  —  i'ijjures  representing  the  probable  location  of  the  chief  motor  and 
sensory  areas  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres  in  man.  .4,  outer  surface.  B,  median 
surface.  From  W.  H.  Howell,  "A  Te.xt-book  of  Physiology,"  Fig.  82  (taken  from 
E.  A.  Schafer,  "Text-book  of  Physiology,"  Fig.  340). 

Nerve-fibres  connect  the  rij^ht  halves  of  Ixuh  retina'  with  this  visual 
centre  in  the  right  hemis|)here,  and  the  left  halves  of  both  retina- 
with  the  left  visual  centre. 


*  Cf.  Donaldson,  American  Journal  uf  Psychology,  Vol.  I\'.,  p.  121; 
Flcchsig,  "  Gchirn  und  Scelc,"  2d  edition,  1896,  p.  77 ;  Nagri,  "  Handbuch 
dcr  Physiologic  dcs  Menschen,"  Bd.  IV.  i,  i)p.  94  IT.,  csp.  p.  99. 


>96 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


[Page 


The  area  forward  and  hack  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando  is  admitted 
to  be  a  centre  of  bodily  movements  —  of  all  movements  of  trunk 
and  limbs,  and  of  such  movements  of  eyes,  tongues,  nostrils,  and 
ears  as  are  indirectly  brought  about  Ijy  mechanical  stimuli.  Many 
psychologists  believe  that  the  Rolandic  area  is  the  centre  also  of 
cutaneous  sensation;  but  Schafcr,  supported  by  some  others, 
holds  that  the  median  gyrus  fornicatus  is  the  centre  of  cutaneous 
sensation  and  the  direct  centre  of  the  movements  initiated  by 
cutaneous  stimuli.* 

The  centre  of  hearing  is  the  first  temporal  convolution;  the  corti- 
cal smell-centre,  and  possibly  the  taste-centre,  are  in  the  uncinate 
convolution  of  the  median  temporal  lobe.  These  probably  are 
centres  also  for  such  movements  of  ear,  nostrils,  and  tongue  as  are 
directly  due  to  stimulation  of  the  end-organs  of  hearing,  smell,  and 
taste.  The  following  summary  of  the  sensory  centres  in  the 
hemispheres  combines  these  data:  — 


Areas 
Occipital  lobe. 

Temporal  lobe: 
Outer 

Inner 

Gyrus  fornicatus. 

Rolandic  area. 


Consciousness 
Vision. 

Hearing. 

f  Smell. 
[Taste  (?) 

Cutaneous 
sensation  (?) 

Cutaneous 
sensation  (?) 


Bodily  Movements 
Of  eye  muscles. 

Of  the  muscles: 
Of  ear  (?) 


Of  nostrils  (? 
Of  tongue  (?) 


:?)| 

oi 


Of  all  muscles. 


§  8.  It  has  been  held  by  some  psycliologists  that  an  image  is 
distinguished  from  a  percept,  not  merely  by  the  different  degree 
and  duration,  but  by  the  different  locality  of  its  cerebral  excitation. 
Flechsig  argues  from  the  vagueness  of  some  memory-images  that 
they  may  occur  when  merely  association-centres,  not  the  sense- 


*  Cf .  E.  A.  Schafcr,  Text-book  of  Physiology,  pp.  766  ff. 


38]  Appendix,  Section  III.,   §9  297 

centres,  arc  excited,*  whereas  the  scnse-cenlrcs  must,  of  course, 
be  active  in  ])ercci)tion.  James  Ward  Ijascs  a  similar  argument  on 
the  case  of  patients  who  are  able  to  recall  familiar  objects,  but 
totally  unable  to  recognize  them  when  they  are  seen.  He  con- 
cludes that  the  centres  for  percept  and  for  image  must  differ,  how- 
ever little,  in  locality. f  But  both  these  arguments  are  insufficient. 
The  people  who  could  recall  and  describe  objects  named  to  them 
may  have  had  purely  verbal  images,  and  need  not  have  visualized 
the  objects  at  all.  And  every  image,  however  'vague,'  contains 
sense-elements  and  must,  therefore,  be  conditioned  by  the  excitation 
of  sense-centres. ft 

in.    THE   SENSE-ORGANS   AND   THE    PHYSIOLOGICAL  CONDITIONS 
OF   SENSATION 

a.    The  Eye 

I.  The  Structure  of  the  Eye 

§  g.  The  lowest  form,  biologically,  of  end-organ  sensitive  to 
light  stimulus  is  a  pigment-spot  on  the  skin  of  an  animal  as  far 
down  in  the  scale  as  the  volvox,  an  organism  midway  between  uni- 
cellular and  multicellular  animals.  §  But  there  is  nothing  to  show 
that  the  consciousness  corres))onding  to  these  stimuli  differs  from 
that  which  follows  on  mechanical  stimulation.  Next  in  the  scale 
of  light-adapted  organs  is  the  faceted  eye,  found  in  some  Crustacea 
and  in  insects,  familiar  to  us  in  the  fly  and  in  the  bee.  It  consists 
in  a  large  number  of  little  cone-shai)ed  organs,  each  of  which  trans- 
mits only  the  ray  of  light  which  passes  directly  through  it;  oblique 
rays  are  absorbed  by  the  pigmented  material  with  which  these 
cones  are  surrounded.  The  result  is  a  miniature  'sti])pled,'  or 
mosaic,  reproduction  of  the  field  of  vision,  since  each  of  the  thou- 
sand cones  transmits  light  from  one  point  only.  A  third  type  of 
eye,  found  also  in  insects,  is  the  ocellus  —  a  small  eye,  consisting 

*  "Gchirn  unri  Secic,"  p.  60. 

t  "Assimilation  and  Association,"  Mind,  N.S.,  Octdbor,   i<S94. 

tt  O.  Kuipe,  §  33,  6  ff. ;  H.  Donaldson,  "The  Growtii  of  the  Brain,"  p.  34. 

§  Washburn,  op.  cit.,  p.    122. 


2()8 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


[Page 


mainly  of  lens,  retina,  and  rods,  and  of  use,  it  is  suy)[)Osed,  in  dark- 
ness and  for  near  ohjects.  'I'liere  is,  tinally,  the  true  eye,  with  its 
lens  and  its  retina,  found  in  crustaceans  and  in  most  vertebrates. 
§  lo.  The  human  eye  has  already  been  described,  but  in  insuffi- 
cient detail.     It  is  a  sphere,  moved,  in  a  bony  cavity  of  the  skull, 

by  six  muscles  —  up- 
ward, obliquely  up- 
ward and  inward, 
downward,  obliquely 
downward  and  out- 
ward, outward  and  in- 
ward. Its  three  mem- 
branous layers  or 
'coats'  are  (i)  the  out- 
ermost sclerotic  mem- 
brane {Sd)  completely 
covering  the  eyeball, 
whitish  and  opaque 
except  in  its  forward 
part,  the  transparent 
cornea  (r) ;  (2)  the 
choroid  membrane 
{Ch),  containing  blood- 
vessels,  muscular 
fibres,  and  color  pig- 
ment, whose  forward  portion  is  the  iris  (/) ;  (3)  the  retina  {R) 
which  surrounds  the  posterior  three-fourths  of  the  eyeball.  These 
membranes  enclose  three  transparent  bodies :  the  aqueous  humor, 
a  very  fluid  substance  behind  the  cornea ;  second,  and  most  impor- 
tant to  vision,  the  double-convex  crystalline  lens  (L),  enclosed  in 
an  elastic  capsule  attached  (by  a  circular  ligament)  to  the  choroid 
coat;  and  finally,  the  vitreous  humor  (VH)  a  jellylike  substance, 
full  of  floating  particles,  which  occupies  more  than  two-thirds  of 
the  cavity  of  the  eyeball  and  "gives  it  substance."  Together, 
aqueous  humor,  crystalline  lens  and  vitreous  humor  form  a 
double-convex  lens. 


Fig.  13.  —  Diagrammatic  outline  of  a  horizontal 
section  of  the  eye.  From  M.  Foster,  op.  cit., 
Fig.   139. 


^s]  Appendix,  See  I  ion   ///.,§  lo  299 


TI1C  eye  is  adapted  by  three  sorts  of  muscular  adjustment,  for 
reaction  to  objects  at  ditTercnt  distances:  (1)  Convergence  and 
divergence  are  movements  of  the  eyeballs,  by  the  eye-muscles, 
which  facilitate  vision  of  near  and  far  objects.  When  the  eyeballs 
are  parallel,  clear  images  of  indetuiitely  distant  objects,  for  ex- 
ami)le  of  the  stars,  are  formed.  As  the  eyeballs  converge  more 
and  more,  that  is,  as  the  fronts  of  the  eyeballs  roll  together  and 
the  backs  roll  apart,  rays  of  light  from  every  point  of  a  nearer  object 
are  brought  together  at  corresponding  points  on  the  retina^  of  lioth 
eyes,  so  that  the  two  eyes  act  as  one.*  (2)  Accommodation  is 
bodily  process  which  changes  the  refractiveness  of  the  lenses  them- 
selves. Accommodation  is  due  to  the  contraction  of  the  ciliary 
muscle  (C.P).,  "a  muscle  lying  in  the  forward  part  of  the  choroid 
coat,  outside  the  iris,  composed  in  small  part  of  circular  fibres 
l)arallel  to  the  circumference  of  the  iris  and  in  large  part  of  fibres 
radiating  from  this  edge  of  the  iris."  This  muscle,  contracting 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  in  which  a  purse-string  is  pulled  up, 
"draws  the  forward  half  of  the  choroid  coat  forward  and  inward, 
thus  lessening  the  tension  of  the  elastic  capsule  in  which  the  cr}stal- 
line  lens  is  swung,  and  allowing  the  lens  to  bulge  from  front  to 
back."  t  (3)  The  third  of  these  muscular  adjustments  is  the 
jHirely  unconscious  relle.x  movement  by  whk4rthtrpTTpTr  an  opening 
in  the  iris  of  the  eye,  is  enlarged  or  narrowed  according  to  the 
distance  of  the  object  and  the  intensity  of  the  light.  There  are 
great  differences  in  these  reflexes.  The  pupils  of  night-seeing 
animals  —  owls,  for  example  —  dilate  far  more  widely  in  the 
night  than  the  pu])ils  of  human  eyes,  and  contract,  in  daylight,  to 
a  mere  slit. 

To  sum  up  the  main  features  of  this  description:  The  diver- 
gent rays  from  each  point  of  a  relatively  near  object  are  (i)  brought 
together  on  the  foveie  of  both  eyes  by  convergence;  are  (2)  bent 
more  sharply  by  the  bul<;in,<^  of  the  crj'Stalline  lens  through  ac- 
commodation, and  are  (3)  kept,  by  contraction  of  the  pupil,  from 
striking  on  the  edges  of  the  crystalline  lens  and  producing  chro- 
matic effects. 

*  Cf,  .Apptiuli.x,  SiCtioii  IV.,  §  g.         t  Cf.  .Appendix,  Sixtion  I\'.,  §  .S. 


h 


300 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


[Pages 


§  II.  It  has  already  appeared  that  the  function  of  the  lenses  and 
muscles  of  the  eye  is  the  formation  of  clear  images  on  the  retina ; 


Fig.  14.  —  Schematic  diagram  cf  the  structure  of  the  human  retina.  From 
anterior  (inside)  to  posterior  (outside)  of  retina:  I.,  Pigment  layer;  II.,  rod  and 
cone  layer;  III.,  outer  nuclear  layer;  IV.,  external  ple.xiform  layer;  V.,  layer 
of  horizontal  cells;  VI.,  layer  of  bipolar  cells,  inner  nuclear;  VII.,  layer  of  ama- 
crucial  cells  (without  axones);  VIII.,  inner  plexiform  layer;  IX.,  ganglion  cell 
layer;  X.,  nerve  fibre  layer.  Adapted  from  VV.  H.  Howell,  "A  Text-book  of 
Physiology,"  Fig.   143  (after  Greefif). 


38-39]  Appendix,  Section  III.,   §  12  301 

and  the  structure  of  this  innermost  coat  of  the  eyci)all  must  there- 
fore be  described  in  slightly  more  detail.  It  is  composctl  through- 
out most  of  its  extent  of  ten  layers;  a  layer  of  pigment  cells  (I); 
the  layer  (II)  containing  the  minute  transparent  structures,  rods 
and  cones,  which  are  the  only  j)arts  of  the  retina  directly  affected  by 
light;  several  interconnected  layers  of  branching  neurones;  and 
the  layer  (X)  formed  by  nerve-fibres  ramifying  in  all  directions  from 
the  oi)tic  nerve  {O.N .  in  Figure  13).  This  nerve  pierces  the  scle- 
rotic and  choroid  membranes  from  the  rear;  and  the  part  of  the 
retina  at  which  it  enters  (displacing  other  retinal  elements)  is,  as 
experiments  show,*  unaffected  by  the  light.  Outward  from  this 
'blind  spot,'  in  the  centre  of  a  colored  yellow  sjiot  (the  macula 
lulea),  there  is  a  little  pit  or  depression  {i\\Q.  fovea,  f.c.)  in  which 
the  retina  has  thinned  so  that  light  more  directly  affects  the  cones, 
which  here  appear  in  unusual  numbers  with  few  or  no  rods  among 
them.  The  retinal  excitation  is  transmitted  by  the  optic  nerve, 
to  the  occipital  lobe  of  the  cortex ;  and  the  following  fact,  already 
mentioned,  concerning  the  correspondence  of  retina  to  brain-cen- 
tres is  important.  When  the  branches  of  the  optic  nerve  from 
right  to  left  eyes  meet  (in  what  is  called  the  optic  chiasma),  the 
fibres  cross  in  such  wise  that  fibres  from  the  nasal  side  of  the 
right  retina  and  from  the  temporal  side  of  the  left  retina  are 
continued  to  the  left  brain  hemisphere,  whereas  fibres  from  the 
tem])oral  side  of  the  right  retina  and  from  the  nasal  side  of  the  left 
are  continued  to  the  right  hemisphere.  Thus,  the  two  retina;  — 
including  the  macul(c,  or  places  of  clearest  vision  —  are  represented 
in  both  hemispheres. 

2.    Phenomena  and  Theories  of  the   Visual  Consciousness 

(a)  Color  Theories 

§  12.  To  this  account  of  the  structure  of  the  eye  must  be  added 
a  brief  statement  of  certain  theories  of  retinal  process  which  differ 
from  the  hypothesis  adopted  in  Cha])ter  III.  It  must  be  borne 
in  mind  that  these  color  theories  are,  one  and  all,  hypothetical 

*  For  exijcrimenls  on  tlic  'liliiid  spot,'  cf.  Sanford,  113  and  114. 


302  Supplement  to  Chapter  III.  [Pagt-s 

descriptions  of  retinal  processes  which  have  so  far  eluded  direct 
observation.  Chronologically  first  is  the  theor)-  indei)endently  for- 
mulateil  by  Thomas  Young  and  Hermann  von  Ilelmholtz.  It 
holds  that  there  are  three  retinal  elements  or  processes  whose 
excitation  ct)nditions  three  color  sensations  —  red,  green,  and  violet. 
It  explains  sensations  of  colorless  light  as  due  simply  to  the  com- 
bination in  equal  degrees  of  these  three  color-processes.  Evi- 
dently this  is  a  reasonable  explanation  of  the  cases  in  which  a 
mixture  of  ether-waves  of  all  lengths  conditions  the  consciousness 
of  colorless  light.  The  Young-Helmholtz  theory  also  explains, 
in  the  following  manner,  the  excitation  of  colorless  light  sensations 
through  the  mixture  of  only  two  color-stimuli :  ether  vibrations 
of  a  given  rate  tend  to  set  up  in  the  retina  not  only  the  processes 
specifically  corresponding  with  them,  but  also  those  which  cor- 
respond with  proximate  vibration  numbers.  So  blue  light  excites 
the  retinal  process  which  conditions  the  sensation-quality  green, 
as  well  as  that  which  accompanies  blue;  and  yellow  light  stimu- 
lates the  processes  for  red  as  well  as  for  yellow.  Therefore  the  com- 
bination of  two  complementary  color-stimuli  produces  the  same 
effect,  physiologically,  as  the  combination  of  all  the  color-stimuli. 
The  specific  physical  condition  of  the  sensation-qualities  of  color- 
less light  is  thus  such  a  mixture  of  ether-waves  as  will  stimulate 
simultaneously  and  nearly  equally  all  physiological  color-processes. 

The  conclusive  objection,  though  not  the  only  objection,  to  the 
Young-Helmholtz  theory  is  the  fact  that  it  fails  utterly  to  account 
for  the  four  cases  in  which  a  sensation  of  colorless  light  follows 
upon  a  single  color-stimulus.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  three 
color-processes  are  aroused  when  a  single  color-stimulus  falls  on 
the  outer  rim  or  on  a  small  part  of  the  retina,  or  when  the  color- 
stimulus  is  very  faint.  And,  finally,  the  theorj'  cannot  possibly 
be  reconciled  with  the  facts  of  color-blindness.  For  in  color- 
blindness one  at  least  of  the  normal  retinal  processes  is  wanting, 
and  there  can  therefore  be  no  combination  of  three  retinal  processes. 

A  far  more  satisfactory  explanation  is  that  of  Hering.  He  holds 
that  a  sensational  consciousness  of  color  is  physiologically  due  to 
the  activity  of  one  of  two  antagonistic  processes  of  an  inferred 


3Q-4o]  Appendix,  Secdon  III.,   §12  303 

rt'tinal  suhstaiuc.  Oi  theso  substances,  he  l)elieves  llial  (here  are 
two,  each  caj)able  of  an  anal)olic,  that  is,  assiniihitive  or  '  building 
up'  process,  and  of  a  katal)oHc-,  that  is,  destructive  or  'tearing 
down'  process.  To  tiiese  four  processes  correspond  tiie  sensations 
of  red,  yellow,  green,  blue,  whose  exact  relation  may  be  seen  by 
the  following  summar)' :  — 


SUHSTANCES  PROCESSES  SeXSATIOXS  OF 

Red-CTeen. 


J  Anabolic.  Green. 

1  Katabolic.  Red. 


Yellow-blue. 


J  Anabolic.  Blue. 

1  Katabolic.  Yellow. 


So  far  Hering  has  explained  simply  our  color  sensations.  To 
account  for  the  colorless-light  consciousness,  he  assumes  another 
retinal  substance  with  opposed  ])rocesscs:  — 

Substance  Processes  Sensations  of 

Anabolic.  Black. 


White-black.  ,  „      ...  „_,  . 

,  Katabolic.  White. 

An  ecjuilibrium  between  the  two  processes  occasions  a  sensation 
of  middle  gray ;  and  an  unequal  combination  of  the  two  processes 
excites  sensations  of  light  or  dark  gray.  The  white-black  sub- 
stance is  excited  by  every  light-stimulus,  and  is  more  widely  spread 
than  the  color-substances  over  the  surface  of  the  retina. 

With  these  presuppositions  Hering  explains  as  follows  the  vari- 
ous ways  of  e.xciting  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light :  When 
such  consciousness  is  due  to  the  combination  of  color-stimuli, 
antagonistic  proce.s.ses  in  the  color-substances  destroy  each  other 
by  simultaneous  action,  and  the  white-black  substance  remains  in 
activity.  When,  for  example,  blue  and  yellow  light  fall  simultane- 
ously on  the  retina,  the  blue  tends  to  set  the  blue-yellow  substance 
into  anabolic  at  tivity,  whereas  the  yellow  tends  equally  to  stimu- 
late the  katabolic  activity  of  the  blue  yellow  substance.  These 
opl)()site  ])rocesses  cancel  each  other;  and  ,so  equilibrium  is  main- 
tained and  the  blue-yellow  substance,  etjually  stimulated  in  two 


304  Supplement  to  Chapter  III.  [Pages 

opposite  directions,  remains  inactive,  whereas  the  white-black 
substance,  as  has  been  said,  is  always  active.  Excitation  by  white 
light,  that  is,  excitation  by  ether-waves  of  all  lengths  amounts  to 
excitation  through  the  combination  of  two  pairs  of  complementary 
color-stimuli,  red  and  green,  blue  and  yellow,  and  results  therefore 
in  the  inactivity  of  both  color-substances. 

In  explanation  of  the  colorless-light  consciousness  as  conditioned 
by  a  single  stimulus,  Hering  advances  far  beyond  Helmholtz.  He 
supposes  (i)  that  sensations  of  colorless  light  arise  w'hen  small 
extents  of  the  retina  are  excited  by  a  single  color-stimulus,  because 
the  stimulation  of  such  small  extents  of  the  red-green  or  of  the 
blue-yellow  substance  is  not  sufficient  to  rouse  it  to  activity,  whereas 
the  ever  active  white-black  substance  is  excited  even  by  a  color- 
stimulus;  (2)  that  the  excitations  in  faint  light  are  not  intense 
enough  to  affect  a  color-substance,  but  do  excite  the  sensitive  white- 
black  substance;  (3)  that  stimulation  of  the  retinal  periphery  by 
color-stimuli  excites  sensations  of  colorless  light,  because  only  the 
white-black  substance  is  found  on  the  outer  zones  of  the  retina. 
Hering  teaches  finally  (4)  that  a  color-stimulus  excites  a  sensation 
of  colorless  light  when  the  subject  is  color-blind,  because  the  retina 
of  a  color-blind  person  lacks  one  or  both  color-substances  so  that 
the  color-stimulus  affects  only  the  easily  excited  white-black  sub- 
stance. Hering  has  certainly,  therefore,  furnished  a  plausible 
explanation  for  sensations  of  colorless  light  whether  conditioned 
by  a  single  stimulus  or  by  a  combination  of  stimuli.  Grave  ob- 
jections have,  however,  been  brought  against  the  Hering  theor}^ 
The  most  important  of  them  may  be  briefly  stated:  (i)  It  is 
highly  improbable  that  an  assimilative  bodily  process  should  con- 
dition consciousness.  (2)  It  is  inconsistent  to  suppose  that 
opposite  color-processes,  simultaneously  excited,  balance  each 
other,  and  result  in  an  absence  of  color-consciousness,  whereas  the 
opposite  processes  of  the  black-white  substance,  if  excited  together, 
occasion  the  consciousness  of  gray.*     (3)  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a 

*  Accordingly  contemporary  upholders  of  the  theory  supplement  it  by 
G.  E.  Miiller's  hypothesis  that  the  consciousness  of  gray  is  due  to  exclu- 
sively cerebral  conditions. 


39-40]  Appendix,  Sccliou  III.,  §§  13-14  3^5 

mixture  of  red  and  green  lights  docs  not,  as  Hering  implies,  occa- 
sion colorless-light  sensation.  On  the  contrary,  the  color-stimulus 
which,  mixed  with  red  light,  produces  a  colorless-light  sensation, 
is  blue-green.  This  shows  that  the  red  and  green  which  are  psy- 
chically elemental  are  not  physiologically  antagonistic. 

The  theory  set  forth  in  Chapter  III.  is  that  of  Mrs.  C.  L. 
Franklin,  which  is  in  agreement  with  that  of  von  Kries  in  the 
fundamental  teaching  that  the  functioning  of  retinal  rods  has  to 
do  with  the  excitation  of  colorless-light  sensations.  In  the  opin- 
ion of  the  writer  it  meets  the  objections  to  the  Helmholtz  and  to 
the  Hering  theories,  and  has  also  certain  independent  advan- 
tages. Three  amplifications  of  our  earlier  statement  of  the  Frank- 
lin theory  should  here  be  made. 

§  13.  It  should  be  stated  first  of  all,  in  more  detail,  how  on  this 
theory  the  partial  decomposition  of  the  cone  substance  is  brought 
about.  Each  molecule  of  the  cone  substance  is,  in  fact,  conceived 
as  consisting  of  four  parts,  of  which  each  is  fitted  to  vibrate  to  one 
only  of  the  color-stimuli  — red,  yellow,  green,  and  blue  light.  There- 
fore a  colored  light  is  regarded  as  partially  decomposing  the  cone  sub- 
stance by  'shaking  out '  one  of  the  atoms  from  each  of  its  molecules. 

It  will  be  obsen^ed,  also,  that  the  von  Kries  and  Franklin  theories 
closely  correspond  with  well-known  facts  concerning  the  distribu- 
tion and  the  function  of  the  retinal  rods.  For  the  rods,  which  (on 
this  theor)')  are  organs  of  such  colorless-light  consciousness  as  is 
due  to  single  stimulation,  are  found  on  the  periphery  of  the  outer 
zones  of  the  retina,  and  are  known  by  experimental  observation  to 
be  readily  affected  in  faint  light.  (Mrs.  Franklin  supposes  that 
the  visual  purple,  a  retinal  substance  actually  observed  on  the  rods, 
reenforces  faint  light  vision  by  absorbing  a  large  amount  of  the 
light  which  usually  passes  entirely  through  the  transparent  rods 
and  cones.) 

§  14.  In  the  third  place,  these  theories  accord  notably  well  with 
certain  facts  summarized  under  the  name  of  the  Purkinje  phenom- 
enon. These  facts  are  the  following:  (i)  Green  and  blue  seen  in 
faint  light  have  a  greater  intensity  than  red  and  yellow.*     On  a 

*  F'or  experiment,  cf.  .Sanford,   142. 


3oO  Supplement  to  Chapter  III.  [Pages 

suiniiicr  evening,  for  cxam])le,  tlu'  green  of  the  marshes  may  be 
seen  against  the  blue  of  the  sea  long  after  the  goldenrod  and  tansy 
have  lost  their  color  and  after  the  old  red  farm-house  has  turned 
gray.  (2)  If  two  grays  —  one  j)roduced  by  the  mixture  of  red  and 
blue-green  lights,  the  other  by  the  mixture  of  blue  and  yellow 
lights  —  be  precisely  matched  in  a  bright  light,  the  first  of  the 
two  will  be  seen  as  brighter  than  the  other  when  both  are  observed 
in  faint  light.  Both  facts  give  support  to  the  theory  that  the  rods, 
and  consequently  the  visual  purple  which  lies  on  the  rods,  have 
to  do  with  colorless  light-vision.  For  all  forms  of  the  Purkinje 
phenomenon  appear  only  in  faint  illumination,  and  the  visual 
purple  is  active  only  in  faint  light;  moreover,  the  Purkinje  phe- 
nomenon consists  in  the  intensification  of  green  and  secondarily 
of  blue  lights,  and  the  visual  purple  absorbs  green  rays  —  and, 
after  green,  blue  rays  —  most  readily;  finally,  the  Purkinje  phe- 
nomenon, as  has  been  found,*  does  not  occur  when  the  foveae  of 
normal  and  partially  color-blind  eyes  are  excited;  that  is  to  say,  it 
does  not  occur  by  excitation  of  the  region  of  the  retina  which 
lacks  visual  purple  and  rods. 

§  15.  The  von  Kries  and  Franklin  theories,  finally,  offer  a  plau- 
sible explanation  of  color-blindness.  The  facts,  though  not  undis- 
puted, may  be  summarized  as  follows:  There  are  two  general 
classes  of  color-blindness,  partial  and  total.  Red-blindness  (in 
which  the  spectrum  order  of  colors  appears  as  gray,  yellow,  blue) 
and  green  blindness  (in  which  the  order  is  yellow,  gray,  blue)  are 
the  most  common  form  of  dichromasia,  or  partial  color-blindness; 
but  there  are  also  a  few  alleged  cases  of  yellow-blue  blindness,  in 
which  the  patient  sees  grays,  reds,  and  greens,  but  no  blues  and 
yellows.  There  are  two  forms  of  achromasia,  or  total  color- 
blindness: in  one,  probably  retinal  in  origin,  the  fovea  is  totally 
blind,  and  there  are  accompanying  defects  of  vision ;  in  the  second 
form  of  achromasia,  very  likely  due  to  cerebral  defects,  the  fovea 
is  not  totally  blind,  and  there  are  no  defects  of  vision  other  than 

*  Von  Kries  u.  Nagel,  Ztsch.  f.  Psych,  u.  Physiol,  d.  Sinnesorgane,  Vol. 
XXIII.,  p.  161,  discussed  by  C.  L.  Franklin.  Psychological  Review,  Vol. 
VII.,  p.  600. 


39-40]  ApJKiidix,  Scclioii   III.,   §15  307 

the  color-hlindnoss.  Tlu'sc  facts  ahsoluti-ly  contradict  the  Helm- 
holtz  theorv ;  are  with  dilTuuhy  harmonized  with  the  Hering  theory ; 
supiHirt,  or  at  least  do  not  oppose,  a  theory  of  tiie  fijencral  type  of 
the  Frankhn  liy])othesis. 

The  conformity  of  the  I-'rankhn  tiieor}'  with  these  facts  may  best 
be  shown  by  a  somewhat  more  detailed  discussion  of  red  and  green 
blindness.  The  red-green  blind  person  has  a  normal  vision  of  blue 
and  of  yellow,  but  confuses  red  and  green  objects  with  each  other. 
Dalton,  for  exam])le,  could  not  see  his  scarlet  academic  gown  as  it 
lay  on  the  grass ;  and  another  red-green  blind  man  could  not  dis- 
tinguish one  branch,  turned  scarlet,  of  a  maple  tree  from  the  rest 
of  the  tree  which  was  still  green.  In  these  cases  Hering  assumed 
that  both  objects  were  seen  as  gray,  and  explained  the  color-blind- 
ness as  due  to  the  total  lack  in  the  retina  of  the  green-red  .substance 
and  the  ceaseless  functioning  of  the  w-hite-black  sul)stance.  But 
this  explanation  does  not  cover  the  distinction,  e.x])erimentally  dis- 
covered, between  two  sorts  of  red-green  blindness.  In  that  of 
the  first  ty])e,  the  red  is  matched  with  gray  and  the  green  with 
yellow ;  for  example,  color-blind  subjects  examined  by  the  Holm- 
gren test,  that  is,  recjuired  to  sort  a  lot  of  worsted  skeins  of  differ- 
ent color  and  hue,*  throw  the  unmixed  red  skein  into  the  pile  of 
the  grays  and  the  green  into  the  pile  of  the  yellows.  In  color- 
blindness of  the  second  type,  the  red  is  matched  with  yellow  and 
the  green  with  gray.  But  according  to  the  Hering  theon*'  there 
is  no  rea.son  to  suppose  that,  because  the  red-green  substance  is 
lacking  from  the  retina,  red  or  green  light  should  affect  the  blue- 
yellow  substance. t  The  Franklin  theory  certainly  has  a  negative 
advantage  in  that  it  does  not  meet  this  ditYiculty.  Positively,  it 
offers  a  plausible  explanation  of  the  two  forms  of  red-green  blind- 
ness by  the  teaching  that  color  molecules  in  their  primitive  form 
contain  two,  not  four,  vibrating  parts  or  atoms,  one  which  e.xcites 
the  sensation  of  blue  and  one  which  excites  the  sensation  of  yellow, 

*  For  e.xperiment,  cf.   Sanford,    135. 

t  More  recently,  Hering  explains  the  distinctions  in  red-green  blindness 
as  due  to  individual  difTerences  in  the  macula  lulea,  or  yellow  spot.  For 
comment  on  the  inadequacy  of  this  view,  cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychologi- 
cal Review,  VI.,  p.  82. 


3o8  Supplement  to  Chapter  III.  [Pages 

and  that  lliis  yellow-exciting  part  is  later  diflferentiated  into  the 
jiarts  which  excite  sensations  of  red  and  of  green.  This  hypoth- 
esis exj)lains  both  the  greater  commonness  of  red-green  blindness, 
since  organs  and  functions  latest  accjuired  are  always  first  lost, 
and  the  tendency  of  red  and  green  light  to  set  in  vibration  the 
yellow-exciting  atom. 

Bibliography.  —  On  color -theories:  H.  L.  F.  von  Helmholtz,  Hand- 
buch  dcr  physiologischen  Optik,  1896,  esp.  §§  19,  20,  23.  E.  Hering, 
Zur  Lehre  vom  Lichtsinne,  1874;  and  Grundziige  der  Lehre  vom  Licht- 
sinn,  I.  II.,  1905,  1907.  G.  E.  Miiller,  Zur  Psychophysik  der  Gesichts- 
empfindungen  (reprint  from  Zeitschrift  fiir  Psycfiol.  u.  Physiol,  der 
Sinnesorgane,  1897).  C.  L.  Franklin,  Mind,  1893,  pp.  472  flf. ;  The 
Functions  of  the  Rods  of  the  Retina,  Psychol.  Review,  Vol.  III.,  pp.  71  ff.; 
J.  von  Kries,  Zeitschrift,  IX.,  pp.  82  flF.,  and  XV.,  pp.  247  ff. ;  Abhand- 
lungen,  1897;  Die  Gesichtsempfindungen,  in  Nagel's  Handbuch  der 
Physiologie  des  Menschen,  Bd.  III.,  pp.  109  ff.  J.  W.  Baird,  The  Color 
Sensitivity  of  the  Peripheral  Retina,  1905. 

For  summary  (to  1901) :  M.  W.  Calkins,  An  Introduction  to  Psychol- 
ogy, pp.  464-473,  with  citations. 

On  color-blindness,  add:  W.  Nagel,  Der  Diagnose  der  praktisch 
wichtigen  Storungen  des  Farbensinns,  1899. 

(b)  Contrast  Phenomena 

§  16.  Brief  reference  has  been  made  in  the  text  of  Chapter  III. 
to  the  phenomena  of  color  and  light  contrast.  A  little  more  must 
be  said  of  simultaneous  contrast.  There  are  many  everyday  illus- 
trations of  it ;  for  example,  the  decided  blue  of  the  shadows  on  a 
sun-lighted  field  of  snow.  There  are  also  many  experimental 
verifications  of  the  phenomenon.*  The  simplest  is  the  examina- 
tion of  squares  or  rings  of  gray,  on  colored  surfaces,  through  a 
tissue  paper  covering,  which  obscures  the  outline  of  the  gray  fig- 
ures ;  these  gray  figures  will  then  appear  in  the  color  complemen- 
tary to  the  background,  yellow  on  a  blue  background,  red  on  bluish 
green,  and  so  on. 

*For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  152,  b,  c,  d;  Seashore,  Chapter  II.;  Titch- 
ener,  §  10,  especially  Exp.  (i),  (2),  (3). 


4o-4i]  Appendix,  Sec/ion  III.,  ^  16  309 

An  exact  explanation  of  this  curious  ])hcnomenon  has  never 
been  given,  but  it  has  been  established  by  Hering,  against  the 
teaching  of  Hclmholtz,  that  the  explanation,  whatever  it  is,  of 
simultaneous  contrast,  must  be  physiological  in  its  nature.  Helm- 
holtz  taught  that  simultaneous  contrast  is  no  more  nor  less  than 
a  psychological  illusion.  According  to  his  theory,  we  'really' 
see,  not  a  complementary  contrast-color,  but  the  physically  e.xcited, 
actual  gray  figure,  though  we  fallaciously  suppose  that  this  gray 
is  yellow,  if  it  lies  on  a  blue  background,  or  green,  if  it  is  seen 
against  purple.  The  cx])lanation,  for  so  wides[)read  an  illusion,  is 
found  in  the  admitted  fact  that  people  are  accustomed  to  look  at 
familiar,  colored  objects  through  a  complementary  colored  medium 
which  makes  them  seem  gray.  For  example,  we  see  a  red  brick 
wall  through  the  green  lights  of  a  hall  door;  the  wall  seems  gray, 
but  w'e  still  think  of  it  as  red.  Or  again,  the  blue  gown  looks  gray 
in  the  yellow  gaslight,  but  is  known  to  be  blue.  The  gray  figures 
of  the  simultaneous  contrast  experiences  are  thus,  Helmholtz  holds, 
inferred  —  not  actually  seen  —  to  be  of  a  color  complementary  to 
that  of  the  background.  But  opposed  to  this  theory  of  Helmholtz 
are  insurmountable  obstacles-  In  the  first  place,  it  directly  con- 
tradicts our  introspection.  We  not  only  do  not  naturally  see 
objects,  in  simultaneous  contrast,  as  gray,  but  in  most  cases  we  can- 
not force  ourselves  to  do  so;  the  gray  ring  on  the  colored  back- 
ground is  immediately,  and  inevitably,  blue  or  yellow  or  red. 
It  is  highly  im])robable,  in  the  second  place,  that  our  comparatively 
infrequent  and  unnoticed  experiences  of  colored  objects,  in  light 
of  a  complementary  color,  should  have  formed  in  us  such  a 
habit  of  inference  as  this  theory  supposes.  The  Helmholtz 
theory  is  disproved,  finally,  by  direct  and  unambiguous  experi- 
ments.* 

It  is  fair  to  conclude,  with  Hering,  that  simultaneous  contrast 
is  physiologically  conditioned ;  in  other  words,  that  when  one  part 
of  the  retina  is  directly  excited  by  a  colored  light,  retinal  processes 
which  condition  a  complementary  color  are  set  up  in  the  neighbor- 
ing retinal  regions.     This  undoubted  fact  can  be  stated  in  terms 

*  For  experiments,  cf.  SanfonJ,  155,  a  and  b  ;   156,  a  and  b. 


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[Pages 


of  any  color-theory,  but  it  has  never  been,  in  any  strict  sense,  ex- 
plained, or  accounted  for. 

Bibliography.  —  On  successive  contrast:  cf.  E.  Hering,  Zur  Lehre 
von  Lichtsinne,  esp.  §  i8. 

On  simultaneous  contrast:  H.  von  Helmholtz,  Handbuch  der  Physio- 
logischen  Optik,  2te  Aufl.,  §  24.  E.  Hering,  Beitrag  zur  Lehre  vom 
Simultan-Kontrast,  Zeitschr.  J.  Psych,  u.  Physiol,  d.  Sinncsorgane,  I., 
18.     C.  L.  Franklin,  in  Mind,  N.S.,  II.,  1893. 

b.    The  Ear 

I.    The  Structure  of  the  Ear 

§  17.  The  simple  structure  from  which,  biologically  speaking, 
the  ear  seems  to  be  developed,  is  a  sac  (the  so-called  otocyst  or 


Fig.  15.  —  Semi-diagrammatic  section  through  the  right  ear.  B,  one  semicircu- 
lar canal;  5,  cochlea;  Vt,  Scala  vestihuli ;  Ft,  Scala  lympani.  For  meaning  of 
other  symbols,  see  text.  From  H.  N.  Martin,  "The  Human  Body,"  Fig.  143 
(after  Czermak). 

statocyst)  enclosed  in  the  skin,  filled  with  liquid,  always  containing 
one  or  more  calcareous  bodies  and  often  containing,  also,  hairs 


45-46] 


Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  18 


311 


varied  in  length.  These  structures  are  found  in  certain  of  the 
lower  invertebrates  —  for  example,  in  jellyfish,  in  Crustacea,  and, 
in  insects  —  and  in  the  lower  vertebrates.  It  is  probable,  however, 
or  at  least  very  possible,  that  these  are  organs  not  of  hearing,  but  of 
pressure  consciousness,  and  that  the  sensations  which  accompany 
the  excitation  of  these  organs  do  not  qualitatively  differ  from  sen- 
sations due  to  mechanical  stimulation.  The  vibration  of  air  or 
water  striking  on  these  organs  then  acts  merely  as  a  jgr:  It  will 
appear  that  one  part  of  the  human  ear  has  probably  the  same 
function. 

§  18.  The  human  ear  has  three  rudely  distinguished  divisions: 
the  outer  ear,  inner  ear,  and  middle  ear.  The  outer  ear  consists 
in  the  pinna  or  concha  {M)  opening 
into  a  hollow  tube,  the  external 
meatus  (G) ;  and  this  tube  is  closed 
by  a  surface,  the  tympanic  mem- 
brane {T).  This  is  thrown  into  vibra- 
tion by  the  motion  of  air-particles, 
and  its  motion  is  transmitted  to  a 
series  of  three  bones,  called,  from 
their  shape,  malleus,  incus,  and 
stapes  (that  is,  hammer,  anvil,  and 
stirrup).  These  bones  lie  within  the 
drum  or  middle  ear  (P),  a  hollow  in 
the  temporal  bone  from  which  the 
Eustachian  tube  (R)  leads  down- 
ward to  the  pharynx.  The  middle 
ear  communicates  by  two  foramina,  or  windows,  with  tin-  inner  car, 
a  complex  bony  tube  embedded  in  the  sjjongy  part  of  the  tem- 
poral bone  of  the  skull.  The  inner  ear  has  three  main  divisions, 
and  these  must  be  described  in  some  detail.  They  are  (i)  a 
middle  chamber,  the  vestibule  (F),  which  is  an  irregularly  rounded 
envelope  containing  two  small  membranous  bags,  or  sacs,  the  sac- 
cule and  thf  utricle;  (2)  the  three  semicircular  canals,  at  right 
angles  to  each  other  —  one  horizontal,  one  running  forward  and 
back,  one  running  right  to  left,  all  of  them  oi)ening  into  the  utricle. 


Fin.  16.  —  Schematic  Sgurc  of 
the  semicircular  canals  (to  the 
right  of  the  diagram).  Utri^-le, 
It;  saccule,  s;  cochlea,  c.  From 
J.  R.  Angell  "Psychology,"  Fig. 
44  (after  McKcndrick  and  Snod- 
grass). 


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[Pages 


Each  bony  canal  contains  a  membranous  tube,  of  the  same  general 
shape  yet  more  nearly  completing  a  circle,  and  each  tube  ends  in  a 
dilation,  or  ampulla,  opening  into  the  vestibule.     Each  sac  of  the 


Fig.  17.  —  A  transverse  section  of  a  circle  of  the  cochlea.  Org.  C,  organ  of 
Corti;  m.t.,  tectorial  membrane.  For  meaning  of  other  sjTabols,  see  text.  From 
M.  Foster,  "A  Textbook  of  Physiology,"  Fig.   180. 

vestibule  and  each  membranous  canal  is  surrounded  by  a  liquid, 
the  perilymph,  and.filled  with  a  liquid,  the  endolymph.  A  branch 
of  the  auditory  nerve  penetrates  each  of  these  ampullae  and  the 
vestibule  as  well,  ending  in  cells  from  which  hairs  project;   and  in 


45-46]  Appendix,  Section  III.,  §  19  313 

the  vestibule,  at  least,  there  arc  small,  hard  substances,  the  ear 
stones,  or  otoliths.  The  essential  feature  of  the  apparatus  is  its 
extreme  sensitiveness  to  changes  of  bodily  position.  The  slightest 
movement  which  tends  to  unbalance  the  body  must  alter  the 
position  of  the  semicircular  canals,  and  thus  put  in  motion  the 
endolymph.  This  movement,  with  or  without  the  additional 
pressure  of  an  otolith,  bends  the  hairs  of  the  ampulhc  and  stimu- 
lates the  vestibular  section  of  the  acoustic  nerve,  and  this  excitation 
reaches  the  cerebellum,  which  is  the  subcortial  nerve-centre  for 
the  movements  affecting  bodily  equilibrium.  Actual  experiments 
show  the  connection  of  these  organs  with  the  preservation  of  bal- 
ance. Animals  deprived  either  of  cerebellum  or  of  semicircular 
canals  stagger  and  fall  about  in  an  unbalanced  and  helpless  way; 
and  deaf  people  whose  semicircular  canals  are  injured  cannot  pre- 
serve their  equilibrium  if  they  are  blindfolded  and  therefore  unable  to 
regulate  their  movements  by  the  visual  perceptions  of  bodily  position- 
As  so  far  described,  the  ear,  like  the  otocyst,  seems  an  organ 
adapted  rather  for  excitation  of  pressure  sensations,  due  to  change 
of  position,  than  for  the  excitation  of  the  auditory  consciousness. 
Auditory  consciousness  results,  in  all  probability,  from  processes 
excited  in  (3)  the  cochlea,  a  bony  spiral  of  two  and  one-half  coils 
around  an  axis.  From  this  axis  projects  a  bony  shelf,  the  lamina 
spiralis  (Layn.  sp.  in  Figure  17),  which  ends  in  the  basilar  mem- 
brane {m.h.).  Together,  bone  and  membrane  divide  each  spiral 
into  two  winding  half-coils,  the  scala  tympani  (Sc.T.)  and  the 
scala  vestibidi  {Sc.V.).  The  former  opens  by  the  round  foramen 
into  the  middle  ear;  the  latter  is  connected  with  the  vestibule. 
Each  contains  a  liquid,  the  perilymph.  A  third  division,  the 
cochlear  canal,  or  scala  media  (C.Chl.),  is  partitioned  off  by  a  mem- 
brane (m.R.)  from  the  scala  vestibnli.  The. cochlear  canal  forms 
the  membranous  cochlea  and  contains  a  liquid,  the  endolymph, 
whose  vibrations,  as  will  appear,  excite  the  auditory  end-organs. 
§  19.  The  basilar  membrane  consists  of  cross-fibres,  radially 
stretched  strings  varying  in  length  from  bottom  to  top,  base  to 
apex,  of  the  cochlea  —  the  longest  strings  near  the  top,  where  the 
lamina  spiralis,  or  bony  side  of  the  partition,  is  narrower.    Some  of 


314 


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[Pages 


these  fibres  support  the  inner  and  the  outer  rods  of  Corti,  which 
number  respectively  about  six  thousand  and  about  four  thousand. 
These  are  tiny  membranous  rods  increasing  in  size  from  base  to 
apex  of  the  cochlea  and  leaned  against  each  other  to  form  an 
arch.     The  cochlear  branch  of  the  auditory  nerve  runs  through 


Fig.  i8.  —  Diagrammatic  view  of  the  organ  of  Corti  and  the  accessory  structures. 
A,  inner  rods  of  Corti;  B,  outer  rods  of  Corti;  C,  tunnel  of  Corti;  D,  basilar 
membrane;  E,  single  row  of  inner  hair  cells;  6  ,6',  6",  rows  of  outer  hair  cells; 
7,  7',  supporting  cells  of  Deiters.  (There  are  supporting  cells  beneath  the  inner 
hair  cells,  also.)  The  hairs  of  the  inner  cells  are  seen  projecting  through  the 
meshes  of  the  reticulate  membrane.  From  W.  H.  Howell,  "  A  Text-book  of 
Physiology,"  Fig.   162  (after  Testut). 

the  whole  length  of  the  lamina  spiralis,  and  terminates  in  hair-cells 
which  lean  against  the  rods  of  Corti.  Hairlike  filaments  grow  up- 
ward from  these  cells.*  Just  above,  and  apparently  projecting 
from  the  edge  of  the  lamina  spiralis,  is  another  delicate  mem- 
brane, the  tectorial  membrane  {m.t.,  in  Fig.  17).! 

*  These  'hairs'  extend  through  minute  openings  in  a  thin  membrane,  the 
reticulate  membrane  (/?)  which  extends  in  both  directions  from  the  summit 
of  the  arch  formed  by  the  rods  of  Corti. 

t  Some  physiologists  believe  that  the  tectorial  membrane  normally  lies 


4s-4<^]  Appendix,  Sec/ ion   ///.,   j^  20  315 

It  is  iiiii)ossible  to  state  with  certainty  the  function  of  all  these 
structures  in  hearing.  It  used  to  be  thought  that  the  rods  of  Corti 
]ilay  the  i)art  in  our  ears  of  strings  in  a  piano,  vibrating  because  of 
their  differing  length  and  span  with  air-waves  of  different  rates. 
Several  arguments,  however,  tell  strongly  against  this  view.  The 
rods  are  neither  sufficient  in  number,  nor  sufficiently  varied  in 
size,  to  serve  this  jjurpose;  they  are  not  found  in  the  auditory  end- 
organs  of  birds  whose  ability  to  discriminate  pitches  can  hardly 
l)e  doubted;  and  finally,  they  are  not  directly  connected  with  the 
fibres  of  the  auditory  nen'e,  which  terminate,  as  has  been  said,  in 
the  hair-cells  of  the  basilar  membrane.  The  following  is  a  more 
probable,  though  by  no  means  a  definitely  justified,  account  of  the 
function  of  these  structures.  It  is  based  on  the  general  assump- 
tions of  the  Helmholtz  theory :  When  certain  fil)res  of  the  basilar 
membrane  are  thrown  into  sym])athetic  vii^ration,  the  rods  of 
Corti  are  moved  U])ward,  and  with  them  hair-cells  lying  on  their 
sides.  The  filaments  projecting  from  these  hair-cells  are,  thus, 
pushed  against  the  tectorial  membrane  and  the  downward  reaction 
from  this  contact  excites  the  auditory  nerve-endings  in  the  hair-cells. 

2.    Phenomena  and  TJicorics  of  the  Auditory  Consciousness 

{a)  Beats  and  Combination  Tones 

§  20.  A  noticeable  feature  of  the  auditory  consciousness  excited 
by  the  simultaneous  vibration  of  two  sounding  bodies  is  the  occur- 
rence of  beats,  swift  and  regular  alternations  of  loud  and  weak 
sound.  Beats  are  occasioned  by  a  combination  of  pendular  air- 
waves whose  vibration  numbers  are  near  each  other.  Such  air- 
waves "reenforce  the  vibration  of  air  particles  which  they  affect 
so  long  as  their  phases  are  alike,"  Init  when  one  of  these  air-waves 
by  itself  would  set  the  air  particle  vibrating  in  one  direction  while 
the  other  would  affect  the  air  particle  in  the  opposite  way,  the  two 
counteract  each  other;  and  at  a  given  moment  the  air  particle  will 
be  held  in  equilibrium  so  that  it  will  not  vibrate  at  all.  Professor 
Myers  distinguishes  "four  stages"  in  the  beating  of  two  tones 

free  in  the  cndolymph.      Cf.   Howell,  "  Te.\t-book  of   Phvsioloi^'v."  1906, 
p.  36S,  willi  citation. 


3i6  Supplement  to  Chapter  III.  [Pages 

according  as  a  tone  of,  say,  256  viljrations  beats  (i)  with  a  tone  of 
fewer  than  264  vibrations,  (2)  with  a  tone  of  264  to  284  vibrations, 
(3)  with  a  tone  of  284  to  about  300  vibrations,  and  (4)  with  a  still 
higher  tone.  "In  the  first  stage,"  he  says,  the  beats  "have  a 
surging,  in  the  second  a  thrusting,  and  in  the  third  a  rattling  char- 
acter; finally  they  fuse  and  pass  into  a  stage  where  only  rough- 
ness remains,  beyond  which  they  completely  disappear."*  Helm- 
holtz  attributed  disagreeable  auditory  combinations  of  pitch,  or 
dissonances,  to  the  occurrence  of  beats. 

Simultaneous  pendular  vibrations,  not  too  closely  alike,  produce 
so-called  combination  tones  of  two  sorts  —  difference  tones  and 
summation  tones.  In  the  first  case,  the  attentive  listener  hears  not 
merely  two  fundamental  tones,  but  a  sound  whose  vibration  number 
equals  their  difference,  sometimes  also  a  second  difference  tone 
whose  vibration  number  is  the  difference  between  the  lower  primary 
and  the  first  difference  tone,  and  sometimes  even  lower  difference 
tones.  In  the  second  case,  but  with  more  difficulty,  the  practised 
listener  hears  a  sound  whose  vibration  number  is  the  sum  of  the 
two  fundamentals.  Combination  tones  are  sometimes  'objec- 
tive'; that  is,  they  are  due  to  external  air- waves,  but  more  often 
they  are '  subjective,'  that  is,  due  to  conditions  within  the  ear.  In- 
deed, difference  tones  must  always  be  in  this  sense  subjective,  unless 
produced  by  some  secondary  vibration  of  the  sounding  body.  It 
is  likely  that  combination  tones  are  due  to  the  vibrations  of  the 
tympanic  membrane  —  perhaps  also  to  the  vibrations  of  the  mem- 
brane of  the  fenestra  rotunda. f 

{h)  Theories  of  Hearing 

§  21.  Certain  alternatives  proposed  by  contemporary  psycholo- 
gists to  the  Helmholtz  theory  should  briefly  be  named.  In  criti- 
cism of  the  theory  it  is  urged,  first,  that  the  basilar  meml^rane  fibres 
are  not  capable  of  vibrating  so  freely  as  the  theory  requires;  and 

*  C.  S.  Myers,  "  A  Text-book  of  Experimental  Psychology,"  Chapter  III., 
p.  39.     For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  79-81;    Titchener,  §§  13,  14. 

t  Cf.  Myers,  op.  cit.,  pp.  43  ff.  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  82;  Titch- 
ener, §  15. 


45 


-46]  Appendix,   Seel  ion   1 1 1 .,   ^  21  317 


second,  that  their  variations  in  lengtii  — only  0.04  to  0.49  between 
tlie  longest  and  the  shortest  of  the  24,000  fibres  —  is  too  slight  to 
permit  vibrations  ranging  from  15  to  more  than  20,000  ])er  second. 
In  lieu  of  the  Helmholtz  hypothesis,  and  to  avoid  these  diiTicultics, 
the  following  theories,  among  others,  have  been  advanced:  — 

(i)  The  hypothesis  of  Rutherford  (the  so-called  telephone  theory) 
regards  the  cochlea  merely  as  a  transmitting  instrument,  and  holds 
that  the  sjiecial  characters  of  a  sound  sensation  have  jjurcly  cere- 
bral explanation. 

(2)  The  theory  of  Kwald  is  based  on  experiments  with  elastic 
membranes,  some  of  them  of  minute  size  and  of  great  delicacy. 
Ewald  found  that  such  a  membrane  vibrates  throughout  its  length 
at  each  stimulation  and  that,  examined  under  a  microscope,  it 
presents  the  picture  of  a  series  of  waves,  visible  as  'dark,  trans- 
verse streaks.'  These  sound-pictures,  as  Ew^ald  calls  them,  vary, 
that  is,  the  crests  of  the  waves  vary  in  their  interval  for  each  tone; 
and  Ewald  supposes  that,  at  these  intervals,  hair-cells  and  nerve- 
fibres  are  stimulated. 

(3)  The  theory  of  Max  Meyer  is  not  easily  stated  in  abbreviated 
form.  He  supposes  that  successive  sound  waves,  of  a  given  vibra- 
tion number,  travelling  up  the  scala  vestibuli,  press  down  the  basilar 
membrane,  and  that  pitch  is  due  to  the  number  per  second  of  these 
downward  pressures,  and  loudness  to  the  extent  of  basilar  mem- 
brane, and  thus  to  the  number  of  nerve  terminations,  excited. 

The  first  of  these  theories  is  rather  a  confession  of  ignorance 
than  a  positive  hypothesis.  The  objection  to  them  all  is  that  they 
fail  to  take  account  of  the  very  elaborate  dilTerentiation  of  struc- 
tures in  the  organ  of  Corti.*  Yet  both  the  Ewald  and  the  Meyer 
hypotheses  are  worthy  of  further  study. 

Bibliography. — On  theories  of  hearing:  Rutherford,  Rcjwrt  to 
British  A.ssociation  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  1886.  K.  Ewald, 
Zur  Physiologic  des  Labyrinths,  Archivfiir  die  gesammte  Physiol.,  1899, 
LXXvi.,  pp.  147  ff.;  1903,  XCIII.,  pp.  4S5  ff.  Max  Meyer,  An  Intro- 
duction to  the  Mechanics  of  the  Inner  Ear,  Utiiv.  of  Missouri  Studies, 

*  Cf.  M'Kcndrick  in  E.  A.  Schafer,  "  Text-book  of  Physiology,"  pp. 
1 192,  iry4. 


3i8  Supplement  to  Cliapler  III.  [Pages 

Scicntijk  Scries,  up-j,  11.,  i  (cf.  Zrilsriiri/l,  1898,  X\'I.).  H.  L.  F.  von 
Hclmholtz,  Sensations  of  Tone,  transl.  by  A.  J.  Ellis,  1895.  C. 
Stumpf,  Tonpsychologie,  Bd.  I.,  1883,  Bd.  II.,  1890.  K.  L.  Schafer, 
Der  Gehorsinn,  in  Nagel's  Handbuch  der  Physiologic  der  Menschen, 
Bd.  III. ;  J.  G.  M'Kcndrick,  in  E.  A.  Schafcr's  Text -book  of  Physiology, 
Vol.  II.,  pp.  1 1 79  tT. 

(r)  The  Qualities  of  Pitch 

§  22.  The  hypothesis  that  there  are  as  many  elemental  qualities 
of  pitch  as  there  are  distinguishable  qualities  in  an  octave  is  sug- 
gested by  McDougall,  and  supported  by  the  following  considera- 
tions: "(i)  The  ^analogy  of  the  other  senses,  in  which  .  .  .  the 
elementary  qualities  are  few,  renders  improbable  the  assumption 
of  a  very  large  number  in  the  case  of  hearing.  (2)  We  know  that 
it  is  impossible  for  some  ears  to  analyze  complex  tones  or  clangs 
which  are  easily  analyzed  by  others,  and  that  even  a  well-trained  ear 
may  find  difficulty  in  analyzing  the  complex  form  of  a  tone  and 
its  octave  or  first  overtone.  (3)  Pure  tones  are  not  merely  more 
or  less  different  in  pitch;  some  that  are  of  very  different  pitches 
have  nevertheless  a  great  resemblance;  .  .  .  The  first  overtone 
or  octave  of  any  tone  differs  from  it,  as  regards  pitch,  more  than 
any  of  the  intermediate  tones  of  the  scale,  and  yet  is,  in  another 
indefinable  fashion,  more  like  it,  so  much  like  it  that  even  a  trained 
ear  may  mistake  a  tone  for  its  first  overtone.  This  fact  suggests 
that  each  pure  tone  is  a  fusion  of  at  least  two  elementary  qualities, 
one  of  which  is  common  to  it  and  all  its  upper  and  lower  octaves, 
another  which  is  peculiar  to  it  and  .  .  .  constitutes  its  pitch. 
(4)  If  each  distinguishable  tone  were  an  elementary^  quality,  we 
should  expect  to  find  that  when  the  air  is  made  to  vibrate  at  a 
steadily  increasing  rate,  as  when  a  violinist  runs  his  finger  up  the 
bowed  string  .  .  .  the  pitch  would  rise  by  a  series  of  steps  from 
one  elementary  quality  to  another;  but  this  is  not  the  case;  the 
transition  is  perfectly  smooth  and  continuous.  .  .  .  We  are  there- 
fore driven  to  believe  that  the  so-called  simple  tones  are  .  .  .  com- 
plexes, and  we  have  no  certain  guidance  as  to  the  number  of 
elementary  qualities  by  the  fusions  of  which  all  the  tones  are  pro- 


41-42]  Ap/Hiidix,   Scclioii    III.,    §  2^::,  319 

iluccd.  .  .  .  PtThaps  thr  most  satisfactory  view,  if  the  physical 
mechanism  of  the  internal  ear  t  an  be  shown  to  admit  of  its  adop- 
tion, is  that  all  the  elementary  (lualities  are  contained  in  a  single 
octave,  which  might  he  likened  to  the  complete  color-series,  and 
that  the  differences  of  pitch  that  distinguish  the  same  (|ualitics  in 
different  octaves  are  not  properly  differences  of  quality,  depending 
upon  specific  differences  of  the  psycho-physical  processes,  but  are 
rather  of  the  same  order  as  differences  of  extensity  or  voluminous- 
ncss  in  the  case  of  visual,  tactual,  or  temperature  sensations,  and 
are  due  to  differences  in  the  number  of  sensory  neurones  excited, 
the  deep  pitch  (the  voluminous)  being  due  to  simultaneous  stimu- 
lation of  many  neurones,  high  pitch  to  stimulation  of  few."* 
'J1ie  physiological  assumjition  of  this  theory  is  not,  on  a  priori 
grounds,  incompatible  with  any  one  of  the  theories  of  tone. 

r.    EmI-orgons  of  Taste  and  of  Smell 

§  23.  Evidently,  the  ability  to  respond  to  the  chemical  stimulus 
of  food  is  at  least  as  potent  a  factor  in  the  preservation  and  de- 
velopment of  animal  life  as  the  sensitiveness  to  mechanical  stimu- 
lation from  external  objects.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  certain  unicellu- 
lar animals,  amoebae  and  many  metazoa  of  simple  form,  respond 
by  a  special  reaction  to  chemical  stimulation.  A  hydra,  for  ex- 
ample, always  avoids  mechanical  objects,  but  seizes  on  food  with 
its  tentacles. t  We  must  guard  ourselves,  however,  from  attributing 
either  taste  or  smell,  as  we  know  them,  to  animals  who  have  no 
trace  of  distinct  taste  and  smell  end-organs  and  who  give  no  evi- 
dence of  reacting  in  different  fashion  to  liquid  and  to  gaseous 
stimulus.  Such  differentiated  organs  and  reactions  are  not  found 
in  animals  lower  in  the  scale  than  insects,  and  are  lacking  in  many 
of  the  lower  vertebrates. ff  The  comparative  psychologists  give 
the  name  'chemical  sensations'  to  the  simple  consciousness  which 
may  be  supposed  to  accompany  the  undifferentiated  reactions  to 
chemical  stimuli. 

♦"Physiological  Psychology,"  by  W.  McDougail,  pp.   72-73. 

t  Washburn,  p.  67.  ft  Washlnirn,  op.  cit.,  80-87;  101-102. 


;2o 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


[Pages 


§  24.  In  the  human  body  the  end-organs  l)oth  of  smell  and  of 
taste  are  structurally  similar  to  those  of  contact,  though  they  occur 
neither  on  the  outer  or  joint  surfaces  nor  in  the  muscles,  but  in  the 
epithelial  linings  of  nose  and  throat  cavities.  The  end-organs 
of  smell  are  situated  in  the  upper  part  of  the  nose.     The  nasal 

cavities  are  divided, 
one  from  another, 
by  a  wall  or  septum, 
of  bone  and  carti- 
lage ;  and  the  bony 
part  of  each  nostril 
is  partly  divided 
vi^ithin  itself  by  the 
three  turbinate 
bones.  The  lower 
bony  surfaces  of 
each  nostril  are  cov- 
ered with  a  pink 
mucous  membrane. 
The  olfactory  mem- 
brane,  containing 
the  smell  end-or- 
gans, covers  a  very 
small  area  (about 
250  mm.,  that  is, 
less  than  a  square 
inch)  on  the  septum 
and  on  the  upper 
turbinate  bone  in 
the  very  peak  of  the  nose.  Olfactory  particles,  naturally  rising  or 
sniffed  into  the  nose,  reach  the  olfactory  membrane  only  by 
diffusion.* 

Two  facts  experimentally  observed  seem  to  show  that  the  end- 
organs  of  smell  are  of  differentiated  structure,  and  thus  fitted  to 
respond,  some  to  one  olfactory  stimulus,  some  to  another.     These 
*  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  57,  58;  Titchener,  §  28. 


Fig.  19. —  Schematic  fi.^ure  of  the  interior  of  the 
left  nostril.  .5'  represents  the  septum,  or  partition 
between  the  nostrils  as  artificially  turned  upward.  The 
shaded  portion  represents  the  olfactory  membrane. 
Yron-i  W.  Nagel,  "Handbuch  der  Physiologic  des  Men- 
schen  "  Fig.  106  (after  V.  Brunn,  taken  from  Zwaarde- 
maker,"  Physiologic  des  Geruchs.") 


47-48]  Appendix,  Scdioii  III.,  §  25  321 

facts  arc  (i)  ])artial  anosmia,  or  ))crmancnt  insensibility  to  some 
smells,  not  to  all.  an  infre(|uent  hut  well-cstahlishetl  experience; 
and  (2)  the  normal  etTect  of  fatigue.  A  person,  for  exami)le, 
whose  end-organs  of  smell  have  been  fatigued  by  continuously 
smelling  camphor,  can  smell  creosote  as  well  as  ever,  almond  but 
faintly,  and  turpentine  not  at  all.  If  smell  end-organs  were  of  one 
type  only,  all  would  be  alike  fatigued,  and  complete  insensibility 
would  be  the  result.*  We  have,  however,  no  list  of  elemental 
smell  cjualities  by  which  to  test  in  an  exact  way  the  differentiation 
of  smell  end-organs.  Zwaardemaker  has,  to  be  sure,  proposed  a 
classification  on  the  basis  of  that  of  Linnaais,  into  ethereal, 
aromatic,  balsamic,  amber-musk,  alliaceous,  burning,  hircine,  re- 
pulsive, and  nauseating  smells. f  Obviously,  however,  this  is  no 
list  of  elemental  qualities,  but  an  empirical  grouping  of  complex 
odors. 

The  olfactory  nerve  leads  from  the  smell  end-organs  in  the  peak 
of  the  nostril  to  the  olfactory  lobe,  originally  a  projection  from  the 
hemispheres,  but,  in  the  adult  brain,  lying  on  the  lower  surface  of 
the  frontal  lobe.  From  the'  olfactory  lol)e,  nerve-libres  lead  to  the 
median  surface  of  the  temporal  lobe.  The  olfactory  lobes  and 
tracts  are  much  more  developed  in  other  vertebrate  brains  than 
in  the  human  brain:  and  it  will  be  remembered  that  the  sense 
of  smell,-  in  the  higher  vertebrate  animals,  though  perhaps  less  dif- 
ferentiated, is  far  keener  than  ours. 

$25.  The  end-organs  of  taste  are  situated  near  the  entrance 
to  the  alimentary  canal,  within  the  papillae  or  folds  formed  by 
the  membranous  covering  of  the  tongue  and  the  forward  part  of 
the  palate.  Two  kinds  of  papilla;  have  to  do  with  taste  excita- 
tion: large  circumvallate  papillae,  like  castles  surrounded  by  moats, 
found  mainly  near  the  root  of  the  tongue;  and  elongated  fungiform 
papillae,  visiljle  as  red  dots  on  the  forward  and  middle  part  of  the 
tongue.  All  the  circumvallate  papillae  and  some  of  the  fungi- 
form j)apill;v  carry  taste-buds,  minute  globular  bodies  containing 

*  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanforcl,  5g;    Titchener,  §  29. 
t  H.  Zwaardemaker,  "  Die  Physiologie  des  Geruchs,"  pp.  233-235. 
Y 


322 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


[Pages 


certain  rod-cells,  among  which  nerve-fibres  end.*     These  taste- 
buds  are  end-organs  of  taste;    but  are  not  as  yet  proved  to  be 


b  ■■  b 

Fig.  20.  —  Section  through  the  circumvallate  papilla  of  a  calf,  greatly  enlarged. 
Taste-bud,  a;  nerve-endings,  />.  From  Th.  W.  Englcmann,  Fig.  270,  in  Strieker, 
"  Lehre  von  den  Geweben,"  Bd.  II. 

essential  organs,  since  taste  is  also  produced  by  exciting  such  fungi- 
form papilL-e  as  lack  taste-buds. f 

In  children,  all  parts  of  the  tongue  and  even  the  mucous  mem- 
brane linings  of  the  cheeks  are  sensitive  to  taste  stimulation;  in 
adults,  the  cheek  linings  and  the  middle  part  of  the  tongue  are 
completely  insensitive.  Different  parts  of  the  tongue  are  sensi- 
tive to  different  stimuli  —  in  general,  the  back  of  the  tongue  to 
bitter,  the  tip  to  sweet,  and  the  borders  of  the  middle  part  to  sour, 
The  insensitive  areas  dififer  for  different  stimuli  as  the  accompany- 
ing figure  representing  the  work  of  one  investigator  indicates.     It 

*  Excitations  of  the  taste  end-organs  are  carried  to  the  hemispheres  from 
the  back  part  of  the  tongue  and  from  the  throat  by  the  glosso-pharyngeal 
nerve;  from  the  forward  two-thirds  of  the  tongue  by  the  lingual  part  of  the 
fifth  and  by  the  seventh  nerve.  (For  discussion  of  the  respective  functions 
of  the  lingual  and  the  seventh  nerves,  cf.  Howell,  "Text-book  of  Physiology," 
p.  270;  Nagel,  in  "  Handbuch  der  Physiologie  der  Menschen,"  III.,  pp. 
624  flf. ;  and  Foster,  "A  Text-book  of  Physiology,"  one-volume  edition,  1895, 
p.  1036.) 

t  Cf.  Nagel,  op.  cit.,  p.  624. 


47-4S] 


Appendix,  Section  III.,  §25 


323 


is  important  also  to  know  that  a  i^'ivcn  papilla  may  1)C  sensitive  to 

several  stimuli  as  well  as  to  one.*     This  fait,  taken  in  connection 

with  the  phenomena  of  aj^eusia,  or  loss  of  taste,  indicate  that  the 

taste-huds  (or  other  taste  en(l-oru;ans,  if  there  ^  ®   rs 

he  such)  ari-  differentiated  to  respond,  some  @ 

to  one  stimulus,  some  to  another;    and  that    |    ,•*' 

they  are  distributed  in  varied  proportions  in 

the  different  regions  of  tongue  an<l  of  palate. 

'I"he  cerebral  centre  of  taste  is  probably  in 

the  median  temporal  lobe. 


Bibliography.  —  On    scnsalions   of    smell: 
Zwaardemaker,   Die  Physiologic  des    Geruchs,        Fig.    21. —  Schematic 
iSg5.     W.  Nagel,   Der  Geruch.sinn,   in   Nagel's   diagram  of  the  surface  of 


Handbuch  der  Physiologic  dcr  Menschcn,  Bd.    the    tongue.     The    area 

III.,   iQOv     E.  Aronsohn,  Zur  Physiologie  des  ^"^^^""ded   by -— was 

'  '  ^  o  insensitive,    in    the    case 

Geruchs,    Aninv    filr  Physiologic,    1884,    pp.  tested,  to  sweet;  that  sur- 

16317.;   Expcrimcntellc  Untersuchungen,  usw.,  rounded  by  o  o  o  was  in- 

iliitl,    1886,    pp.    32   fT.       E.    \.    McC.    Gamble,  sensitive    to    sour;    that 

The  Applicability  of  Weber's   Law    to   Smell,  surrounded  by  .  .  .  was 

,     ,  n       ,    ,  ,,        „   „  insensitive  to  bitter;  that 

Amencan  Journal  of  Psychology,  X.,  1898,  pp.  ^^^^^^^^^^  by  -  -  -  was 

82  ff. ;    and   The   Physical    and    Physiological  insensitive  to  salt.    The 

Conditions  of  Smell,  in  M.  W.  Calkins,  An  In-  shaded  area  was  entirely 

troduclion  to  PsvchologV,  pp.  480-482.  insensitive.       From      W. 

On    sensatio'ns    of   'taste:    W.    Nagel,    Der  f^'f'"''  t"  f^'-/'*^-   "" 

•       XT        1        TT       11       I      /   •      1     (after  Schreiber). 

Geschmacksinn,    m    Nagel  s    Handbuch   (cited 

above),  Bd.  III.  F.  Kicsow,  Beitriigc  zur  physiologischcn  Psychologie 
des  Geschmacksinnes,  Wundt's  Philosophischc  Studicn,  X.  and  XII. 
C.  S.  Myers,  The  Taste-names  of  Primitive  People,  British  Journal 
of  Psychology,  1904,  I.,  pp.  117  fif. ;  G.  T.  W.  Patrick,  American  Journal 
of  Psychology,  1899,  pp.  160  ff.  H.  Zwaardemaker,  Geschmack,  in 
K.  .\shcr  und  Spiro's  Ergebnisse  der  Physiologie,  II.,  ii.,  1903. 

*  Cf.  summaries  of  Oehrwall's  experiments  by  Howell,  op.  cit.,  p.  273, 
and  Nagel,  op.  cit.,  p.  642.  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  53;  Titthener; 
§  24. 


324 


Supplement  to  Chapter  HI. 
d.    Cutaneous  Sense-organs 


[Pages 


§  26.    The  lowest  forms  of  animals  respond  to  mechanical  and 
thermal  stimulation;   and  all  other  sense-organs  (save  the  retina) 


ON.. 


St. 


ON.- 


'I  hi  \  '^^i#^ 


p! 


j/^    111     " 


\\rn] ;^^,'.  ^^7t  V  7;// w^/  " ^ 


/- gs 


-CP 

..At 


Fig.  22.  —  Semi-schematic  section  of  the  skin  of  the  pulp  of  the  fingers.  Sp, 
papillary  layer  of  the  skin  ;  Sr,  reticular  layer  of  the  skin  ;  za,  fat  ;  cM,  Meiss- 
ner's  corpuscles  ;  cP,  transverse  sections  of  Pacinian  corpuscles  ;  ON,  RufiSni's 
endings;  At,  arteriole;  gs,  sudoriparous  glands.  From  L.  F.  Barker,  "The 
Nervous  System  and  its  Constituent  Neurones,"  Fig.  245  (after  Ruffini). 


-52] 


Appendix,  Section  III.,   §  27 


325 


have  been  (lovclo])cd  from  dilTcrentiated  structures  in  the  skin. 
The  uncritical  observer  thinks  of  the  skin  as  'organ'  of  contact, 
of  temperature,  and  of  pain  sensations ;  but  the  skin  —  besides 
serving  as  excretory  organ  —  merely  contains  and  jjrotccts  the 
minute  organs  affected  by  the  external  physical  stimulus.  The 
most  important  of  these  organs  are:  (i)  Hair-bulbs,  from  which 
|)roject  the  fine  hairs  which  transmit  any  movement  with  accel- 
erated force.  (2)  Tactile  corpuscles  (Meissner's),  found  chiefly 
in  the  jiapilkT  of  the  dermis  of  hand  and  of  foot.  (3)  Touch 
cells  (Merkcl's)  'of  the  same  essential  structure,'  but  receiving  only 
one  nerve-fibre  each,  distributed  all  over 
the  skin.  (4)  Pacinian  corpuscles  widely 
distributed  in  the  skin,  the  periosteum  of 
the  bone,  the  covering  of  the  viscera,  the 
muscles,  and  the  tendons.  (4)  Articular 
end-bulbs,  found  on  joint  surfaces.  (5) 
The  so-called  end-bulbs  of  Krause,  found 
in  tendons,  cross-striated  muscles,  outer 
skin,  cornea,  and  lining  of  the  mouth. 
(6)  The  endings  of  Ruftini,  cylindrically 
shaped,  deep-lying  bodies. 

§  27.    The  specific  functions   of    these      „  " 

.  .    ,    ,  Fif^-  23.  —  A  dermic   pa- 

dirferent  structures  are  not  certamly  known,  pjua  containing  tactile  cor- 
Thcre  is,  however,  much  plausibility  in  the  puscle  (Meissner's).    From 

hviwthesis  of  Van  Frey  that  both  the  hair-  "•  ^  ^^'^J}'""'  "The Human 

.  Body,    I'lg.  152. 

cells  and  the  Meissner  corpuscles  are  or- 
gans of  pressure  sensation  due  to  stimulation  of  the  skin.  For 
the  hairy  parts  of  the  skin  are  especially  sensitive  to  pressure; 
and  one  or  more  pressure  spots  are  almost  always  found  near  the 
place  where  each  hair  leaves  the  skin.  On  the  hairless  surfaces 
(which  however  are  few  and  of  small  extent)  the  cori)uscles  of 
Aleissner  correspond  fairly  well  in  number  with  the  actually  dis- 
covered pressure-spots.  Furthermore,  with  the  exception  of  the 
hair-cells  and  the  Meissner  corjuiscles,  no  end-organs  occur  in 
numbers  at  all  e(jual  to  lhu:>c  of  the  pressure-spots  of  any  given 
locality. 


■'MV^/;j^> 


326  Supplement  to  Chapter  HI.  [Pages 

There  is  less  certainty  concerning  the  end-organs  of  pain,  cold, 
and  warmth.  Von  Frey  teaches  that  the  end-organs  of  cutaneous 
pain  sensation  are  the  so-called  'free'  nerve-endings  —  that  is 
to  say,  the  endings  of  nerves  without  differentiated  terminal 
organs  —  in  the  epidermis,  or  bloodless  upper  layer  of  the  skin.* 
He  reaches  this  conclusion  on  the  ground  that  the  relation  of  weight 
of  stimulus  to  intensity  of  sensation  proves  that  the  pain  end- 
organs  lie  above  the  pressure  organs,  a  condition  fulfilled  by  the 
free  ncn-e-endings  only.*  An  apparent  objection  to  this  theory  is 
the  fact  that  pain,  with  end-organs  nearer  the  surface,  is  less  easily 
excited  than  pressure.  This  difficulty  is  met  by  the  supposition 
that,  in  the  case  of  stimuli  of  moderate  intensity  and  duration, 
the  inelastic  epidermis,  in  which  are  the  free  nerve-endings,  simply 
transmits  the  stimulus  to  the  lower-lying  cutis,  in  which  are  the 
pressure  organs.  The  fact  that  the  warmth  spots  on  the  skin  are 
so  much  less  easily  determined  than  the  cold  spots  suggests  the 
possible  identification  of  organs  of  cold  with  the  'end-bulbs  of 
Krause '  and  of  warmth  organs  with  the  deeper-lying  '  endings  of 
Ruffini.'  The  excitation  of  cold  spots  by  a  stimulus  above  45° 
centigrade  gives  the  so-called  'paradoxical  sensation'  of  cold. 

Comparing  the  sensitive  spots  of  the  skin  —  the  pressure  spots, 
pain  spots,  warmth  and  cold  spots  which  cover  end-organs  of  these 
various  sorts  —  we  reach  the  following  results :  In  spite  of  the 
differences  in  distribution,  already  noted, f  the  greater  part  of 
the  skin  may  be  said  to  contain  pressure,  pain,  cold,  and  warmth 
spots.  The  pain  spots  are  most  frequent,  though  pain  is  less 
easily  excited  than  pressure  sensation.  There  are  on  the  average 
at  least  100  pain  spots, J  25  pressure  spots,  12  cold  spots,  and  2 
warmth  spots  on  a  square  centimeter  of  the  skin.  All  the  end- 
organs,  except  those  of  pain,  seem  to  become  adapted  to  long- 
continued  stimulation :  for  example,  we  no  longer  notice  the  warmth 

*For  fuller  discussion,  cf.  von  Frey,  cited  below,  "Uber  die  Sinnesfunc- 
tionen, "  pp.  257  if. 

t  Cf.  pp.  553,  59'. 

X  Cf.  von  Frey,  op.  cit.,  p.  264,  and  Titchener,  "Text-book,"  I.,  pp.  154, 
147,  150. 


51-50]  Appendix,  Srclion   flL,   §§  27-J8  327 

of  the  room  or  the  pressure  of  our  clothes;  hut  [);iin  does  not  wear 
away  while  the  stimulus  persists,  even  though  we  grow  relatively 
inattentive  to  it. 

It  should  he  added  that  recent  exjjeriments  point  to  the  existence 
of  a  second,  previously  undiscovered,  cutaneous  sensory  appara- 
tus. Phenomena  which  attend  the  healing,  after  cutting,  of 
afferent  cutaneous  nerves  indicate  that  accurately  localized  sen- 
sations (of  light  contact  and  of  moderate  cold  and  warmth,  not 
of  pain)  occur  indejiendently  of  the  sensations  due  to  excitation 
of  the  end-organs  just  described.* 

§  28.  Tn  addition  to  the  sense-organs  in  the  skin,  end-organs 
differing  from  these  in  external  form  which  are  yet  (in  all  proba- 
bility) modifications  of  essentially  similar  endings  are  found  in 
the  muscles  and  joints.  These  deeper-lying  end-organs  condition 
sensations  of  which  the  greater  number,  at  least,  seem  to  be  of 
the  same  nature  as  cutaneous  sensations:  pressure,  cold,  warmth, 
and  pain.  Among  these  dcc[)er-lying  organs  arc  the  Pacinian 
corpuscles  in  the  muscles  and  joints,  to  whose  excitation  are  due 
the  sensations,  probably  of  pressure,  following  on  the  independent 
stimulation  of  muscle  and  of  joint. f  Strain-sensation,  due  to 
excitation  of  the  tendons,  very  likely  has  as  end-organs  the  so- 
called  'spindles  of  Golgi.' 

Some  psychologists  have  attributed  to  subcutaneous  end-organs 
what  they  regard  as  the  sensational  consciousness  of  bodily  posi- 
tion and  of  bodily  movement  —  so-called  '  static '  |  and '  kinaesthetic ' 

*  Cf.  Head,  Rivers,  and  Shcricn,  Rivers,  Rivers  and  Head,  and  Franz, 
cited  on  p.  328  below.  This  newly  discovered  'epicritic'  sensory  mechanism 
is  distinguished  from  the  ordinary  'protopathic'  system  (with  its  nerves  end- 
ing in  the  terminal  end-organs)  in  that  excitation  of  this  'epicritic'  system  is 
not  punctiform.  In  other  words,  not  specific  areas  of  the  skin  but  the  whole 
surface  seems  sensitive  to  light  contact,  cold,  and  warmth.  Furthermore  the 
sensations  due  to  excitation  of  the  epicritic  .system  (not  those  duo  to  excitation 
of  the  protopathic  apparatus)  may  be  graded  in  intensity. 

t  On  the  independent  excitation  of  the  muscles,  cf.  T.,  §  32.  On  the 
independent  excitation  of   the  joint-surfaces,  cf.  p.  52^  above,  with  footnote. 

X  Cf.  \V.  Nagel,  "  Handbuch,"  III.,  cited  above,  pp.  737  tL,  and  Ebbing- 
haus.  Grundziigc,  pp.  365  ff. 


328  Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 

sensation.  In  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  this  book  these  are, 
however,  complex  not  simple  experiences,  perceptions  not  sensa- 
tions. According  to  this  view,  the  perception  of  bodily  position 
includes  along  with  pressure  sensations  due  to  supporting  objects 
—  chair,  couch,  or  floor  —  a  visual  consciousness,  perceptual  or 
imagined,  of  the  body.  Where  this  visual  consciousness  is  lack- 
ing, as  when  one  wakes  suddenly,  there  is  a  loss  of  consciousness 
of  position.  Similarly  the  consciousness  of  movement  of  the  body 
is  made  up  of  the  pressure  consciousness  due  somewhat  to  muscular 
contraction  but  mainly  to  the  movement  of  joint-surfaces  on  each 
other  and  supplemented  by  the  visual  consciousness  of  the  body 
in  successive  positions. 

Bibliography.  —  On  cutaneous  sensations:  Max  von  Frey:  Bei- 
trage  zur  Sinnesphysiologie  der  Haut,  Berichte  der  Geseltsch.  d.  Wiss.  zn 
Leipzig,  Math.-phys.  Klasse,  1894-1895,  pp.  165  ff. ;  Ueber  die  Sinnes- 
functionen  der  Menschlichen  Haut,  Abhandtung  der  Kgl.  Sdclis.  Ges. 
d.  Wiss.,  Math.-phys.  Klasse,  XXIII.,  1896,  pp.  175  ff.,  and  Vorlesungen 
iiber  die  Physiologie,  1904,  308  ff.  A.  Goldscheider,  Gesammelte  Ab- 
handlungen,  I.,  1898.  C.  S.  Sherrington,  in  Schafer's  Text-book  of 
Physiology,  II.,  pp.  920  ff.  T.  Thunberg,  Physiologie  der  Druck,  Tem- 
peratur  und  Schmerzempfindungen,  in  Nagel's  Handbuch,  1905,  III., 
647  ff. 

On  the  consciousness  of  heat:  S.  Alrutz,  Zeitschr.  fiir  Psychol.,  Bd. 
XLVII.,  161  ff.,  241  ff.;  Mind,  N.S.,  VI.,  445  ff.,  VII.,  141  ff. 

On  sensations fotlowing  nerve-division:  Head,  Rivers,  and  Sherren, 
The  Afferent  Nervous  System  from  a  New  Aspect,  Brain,  1905,  XXVIII., 
pp.  99  ff. ;  Rivers,  Psychot.  Bulletin,  1908,  V.,  pp.  48-49.  Rivers  and 
Head,  A  Human  Experiment  in  Nerve-division,  Brain,  1908,  XXXI., 
pp.  323  ff.  8.  I.  Franz,  Sensations  following  Nerve-division,  Journal 
of  Comp.  Neurology,  1909,  XIX.,  107-123,  216-235. 

On  sensations  due  to  internal  excitation:  Goldscheider,  op.  cit.,  II. 
W.  Nagel,  in  Nagel's  Handbuch,  III.,  735  ff.  Sherrington,  as  cited 
above,  1002. 

B.   The  Doctrine  of  Elements  of  Consciousness 

§  29.  The  theory  of  elements  of  consciousness  which  this  book 
upholds  is  based  on  the  conception  of  an  '  element  of  consciousness, ' 


Appendix,  Section  III.,  §§  28-32  329 

as  a  further  unanalyzablc  result  of  a  structural  *  analysis  of  con- 
sciousness —  a  distinguishable,  though  never  separate,  constitu- 
ent of  experience.  Other  criteria  which  have  been  proposed 
are  'independent  variation'  (cf.  M.  F.  Washburn  cited  below) 
and  abscjlute,  atomic  distinctness  (cf.  H.  Miinsterberg,  "  Grundzuge 
der  Psychologic,"  Kap.  XV.,  sec.  4).  For  defence  of  the  conception 
of  qualities,  intensities,  and  extensities  as  'attributes'  of  the  sensa- 
tion, regarded  as  element,  cf.  E.  B.  Talbot,  Philos.  Review,  1895, 
IV.,  pp.  154  ff. ;  for  summary,  cf.  M.  F.  Washburn,  Philos.  Review, 
1902,  XI.,  pp.  445  flf. 

§  30.  The  conception  of  sensational  intensity  and  extensity 
as  elements  of  consciousness  has  been  opposed  on  the  ground  that 
no  physical  and  physiological  conditions  of  intensity  and  extensity 
can  be  assigned.  For  detailed  consideration  of  this  objection,  cf. 
Psychological  Review,   1899,  pp.  506  flf. 

§  31.  Within  the  class  of  sensational  elements,  psychological 
method  recognizes  three  subclasses,  usually  distinguished  as 
qualities,  intensities,  and  extensities.  The  fundamental  ground 
for  this  division  is  the  observed  distinctness  of  these  groups  of 
elements,  the  fact  that  the  experiences  of  hue,  of  j)itch,  and  of  taste 
seem,  from  one  point  of  view,  to  belong  together,  and  to  be  equally 
distinct  from  the  experiences  of  brightness,  of  loudness,  and  of 
taste  intensity,  or  from  the  consciousness  of  visual  and  auditory 
bigness.  The  experiences  of  intensity  and  of  extensity  are  further 
distinguished  on  the  ground  of  their  capacity  for  being  ordered 
in  direct  and  .simple  sensational  series.  For  amplification  of  this 
distinction,  cf.  the  writer's  "  An  Introduction  to  Psychology," 
f  second  edition,  1905,  [)p.  43  ff.,  105  ff.,  with  citation,  and  Miin- 
I       sterberg,  "Grundzuge,"  Kap.  VIII.,  pp.  276  ff.,  283  ff. 

§  32.  For  further  discussion  of  sensational  extensity,  cf.  Chapter 
IV.,  pp.  66  ff.,  and  Appendix,  Section  IV.,  §  2,  pp.  333  ff.  For 
emphasis  on  the  distinction  between  the  elemental  experience  of 
extensity,  or  bigness,  and  the  complex  consciousness  of  position, 
ff.  pp.  67  ff.  It  is  still  a  moot  question,  even  among  f)sychologists 
who  admit  the  elemental  nature  of  visual  and  pressure  extensity, 

*  For  the  meaning  of  this  term,  cf.  pp.  14,  172,  above. 


330  Supplement  to  Chapter  HI. 

wlicthcr  \vc  may  be  said  to  have  a  consciousness  of  extensity 
accompanying  sounds,  tastes,  and  other  sensational  qualities. 

§  2,T,.  Duration  is  often  named  along  with  quality,  intensity, 
and  extensity  as  a  sensational  element  (or,  when  the  older  ter- 
minology is  adopted,  as  'attribute  of  sensation').  But  the  con- 
sciousness of  duration,  when  it  occurs,  is  a  complex,  not  an 
elemental,  experience;  and  it  does  not  even  form  a  part  of  all 
sensational  experience.  For  defence  of  this  view,  cf.  M.  W. 
Calkins,  Psychol.  Review,  1899,  VI.,  p.  510,  and  "An  Introduction 
to  Psychology,"  second  edition,  p.  491,  and  M.  F.  Washburn, 
Psychol.  Review,  1903,  X.,  pp.  416  ff. 

§  34.  This  book  recognizes  three  sorts  of  elemental  experience : 
sensational,  attributive,  relational.  These  classes  are  distinguished 
as  follows.  Sensational  elements  seem  to  be  present  in  every 
conscious  experience.  However  abstract  a  thought  or  however 
impassioned  an  emotion,  always  it  seems  to  include  sensational 
elements,  the  consciousness,  for  example,  of  warmth  or  of  cold, 
of  quickened  or  of  retarded  breathing.*  Corresponding  with 
every  sensational  element,  there  is  some  assignable  change,  both 
in  an  area  of  the  brain-cortex  and  in  a  peripheral  nerve  end-organ. 
For  almost  every  sensational  element  there  is  a  distinct  physical 
condition.  Thus,  the  rate  of  ether-wave  vibration  conditions  the 
consciousness  of  color-quality,  and  the  amplitude  of  the  wave  the 
consciousness  of  color-intensity. 

Contrasted  vidth  the  ever-present,  relatively  self-sufficient 
sensational  elements,  correlated  as  they  are  with  definite  physical 
and  peripheral  physiological  phenomena,  are  two  classes  of  ele- 
ments of  consciousness,  the  attributive  and  the  relational.  Within 
the  former  group  this  book  includes  attention,  the  affective  con- 
sciousness of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness,  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  realness.  Among  simple  relational  experiences  it  has 
named  the  consciousness  of  '  one '  of  '  many '  of  '  like '  of  '  different ' 
of  'more'  of  'less'  and  the  like.  The  following  statements  may 
be  made  about  elements  of  both  these  classes,  (i)  It  is  at  least 
probable  that  there  are  experiences  which  contain  neither  attrib- 
*  Cf.  for  consideration  of  a  different  view,  p.  364,  below. 


Appendix,  Section   1 1  J.,   §§33-34  331 

utivc  nor  n-Iational  elements,  which  are,  in  a  word,  purely  sen- 
sational. Certainly  we  may  have  inattentive,  indifferent  con- 
sciousness untinged  with  the  feeling  of  reality;  and  it  is  likely 
that  the  very  primitive  or  very  sleepy  consciousness  contains  no 
consciousness  of  unification,  of  distinction,  or  of  connection. 
(2)  There  are  ol)\-iously  no  definite  physical  modes  of  stimulation 
and  thus  no  end-organs  of  the  attributive  and  the  relational  con- 
sciousness. (3)  From  the  first  of  these  characters  it  follows  that 
an  attributive  or  relational  element  is  reflectively  known  as,  so 
to  speak,  belonging  to,  attached  to,  another  element  or  constituent 
of  the  complex  experience  of  the  given  moment.  And  the  rela- 
tional is  distinguished  from  the  attributive  element  as  belonging 
to  at  least  two  such  other  elements  or  factors.  Thus.  I  am  always 
conscious  of  a  pleasant  something  —  taste  or  familiarity;  I  attend 
to  a  color,  I  hold  a  sound  as  real.  In  other  words,  the  attributive 
experiences  are  somehow  'attached  to'  sensational  consciousness. 
Similarly,  we  are  conscious  of  the  likeness  or  unlikencss  of  one  color 
or  i)leasure  or  relation  to  another  —  that  is,  the  relational  conscious- 
ness is,  as  it  were,  subordinated  to  two  other  elemental  experiences. 
These  criteria  of  the  elements  of  consciousness  are,  one  and 
all,  reflectively  observed  characters,  facts  later  'known  aljout' 
the  elements  of  consciousness.  This  statement  is  of  importance 
as  guafding  against  the  charge  of  treating  the  characters  of  in- 
dependence, attachedness,  and  the  like,  as  if  they  were  constituents 
of  the  elements  of  consciousness. 

TABLE   OF   ELEMENTS   OF   CONSCIOUSNESS 

CLASSES   OF   SENS.\TIOXAL   ELEMENTS 

A.     Fkom  External  Sti.mulus 

{Psychic  nature)  {Organ  stimulated)  {Physical 

stimulus) 

1.  Visual,  ok  {Peripheral)        ^Central) 

{Quality)     {Intensity)     {Extensity)  Occip  Lobe  Ether-waves 

a.  I.  Color  — -  Retinal  cones  ••  Lenglh  of  waves 

2.  Colorless      Retinal  rods  ••  " 

ID-,.  ,,  (.letrwof  I,  (Jnrr»»of  Amplitude 

6.   Brightness  iiciutioo)  eioTutioo)  of  waves 

Number  ol 
c.  Bigness  "    '4"Sdon)         "  oiiUMouri)        slmuliane- 


light 


ous  waves 


?^?>^ 


Supplement  to  Chapter  III. 


II.  Auditory,  of 


Pitch 

Noise-quality 


Basilar  tnem- 
brane  of 
cochlea 


b.  Loudness 


c.  Volume 


III.  Gustatory,  of 


Taste-buds  (?) 
on  tongue 
and  palate 


a.  Taste  quality 

b.  Taste-intensity 

c.  Taste-extensity  (  ?) 


IV.  Olfactory,  of 


End-organs  in 
peak  p/  nose 


Temporal 

lobe 
(external 
surface) 


Temporal 

lobe 
(median 
surface) 


Temporal 

lobe 
(median) 


fdegree  of 


a.  Smell-quality 

b.   Smell-intensity 

c.   Smell-extensity (?) 

B.    Either  from  External  or  from  Internal  Stimulus 


Length  of 
waves 

Amplitude 

of  waves 

Complexity 

of  waves 

LiQi;iD 
Chemical 

Stimulus 

Mode  of 
stimulus 
Degree  of 
stimulus 

Amount  of 
stimulus 

Gaseous 

Chemical 
Stimulus 
Mode  of 
stimulus 

Degree  of 
stimulus 

Amount  of 
stimulus 


V.    Pressure! 


VII.    Temperature,  of 
a.   CoId» 

b.  Warmth  > 


c.  Hotness'  (?) 


Hair-bulbs, 
Tactile  cor- 
puscles. Pa- 
cinian cor- 
puscles 
Free  neri'e 
endings,  in 
cutis,  etc. 


End-bulbs  of 

Krause 
End-organs 
of  Ruffini 


Rolandic 
area^ 


Rolandic 
a  rea  - 


Rolandic 
area  " 


Mechanical 
Stimulus 


Mechanical 
Thermal 
Chemical 

Electrical 
Thermal 
Stimulus 


C.     From  Internal  Stimulus  Only 


VIII.    Of  Strain  (?)1 


End-organs 
in  tendons 


Rolandic 
a  rca  - 


Mechanical. 

Stimulus 

by  e.xternal 

weight  or 

internal  pull 


CLASSES   OF  ATTRIBUTIVE   ELEMENTS 

I.   Affective  Elements:  — 
I.  Pleasure 

b.   Displeasure  (Consciousness  of  unpleasantness) 

II.   Attention 

III.   Consciousness  of  Realness 

'  The  specific  mention  of  quality,  intensity,  and  (probable)  extensity  is  here  omitted. 
'  Or  else  the  median  gyrus  fornicatits.     Cf.  p.  296,  above. 


Appendix,  Section  III.,  §§  34-35  333 

TARTIAL   ENUMERATION   OE   RELA'riONAL   ELEMENTS 

Consciousness  of 

One,  niore-than-one  (many); 
More,  less; 
Like,  different; 
Connected,  opposed;  etc. 

C.    The  Psychophysical  Law 

§  35.  The  psychophysical  law  formulates  a  well-known  rela- 
tion between  physical  stimulation  and  sensational  consciousness: 
the  more  intense  a  stimulus  to  sensation  the  more  it  must  be  altered 
in  order  that  the  accompanying  consciousness  may  vary.  If, 
for  example,  I  am  carrying  a  quarter  pound  of  tea  I  sliall  feci  the 
weight  of  an  added  ounce,  whereas  the  same  ounce,  if  it  were 
added  to  a  pound  or  two-pound  package,  would  be  followed  by  no 
consciousness  of  additional  weight.  Similarly,  in  a  quiet  room 
I  hear  a  fly's  buzzing  which  I  should  not  hear  in  a  whirring 
factory.  Psychological  experimenting,  especially  in  the  early 
days,  was  largely  concerned  with  the  verification  and  llie  applica- 
tion of  this  law.  The  general  outcome  of  it  is  the  following:  to 
obtain  a  series  of  sensational  intensities,  just  perceptibly  different 
from  each  other,  the  series  of  physical  stimuli  must  differ,  one  from 
the  other,  by  a  certain  definite  ])rop()rtion.  The  proportion 
varies  with  the  form  of  stimulus:  the  degree  of  sound  stimulus 
must  increase  by  one-third,  of  gaseous  olfactory  stimulus  by 
about  one-fourth,  of  mechanical  surface  stimulus  by  one- 
twentieth,  of  mechanical  j)ull  by  one-fortieth,  and  of  light  stimulus 
by  one  one-hundredth.  For  example,  if  one  can  just  tell  the 
difference  between  weights  of  one  hundred  and  one  hundred  and 
five  grams  applied  to  the  ends  of  the  fingers,  one  will  not  be  able 
to  distinguish  weights  of  two  hundred  and  two  hundred  and  five 
grams,  but  will  barely  discriminate  weiglUs  of  two  hundred  and 
two  hundred  and  ten. 


SECTION  IV 

§  I.  On  the  negative  character  of  fusion,  cf.  C.  S.  Myers,  op. 
cit.,  pp.  6-7.  On  the  difficulty  of  analysis  in  fusion,  cf.  Titchener, 
"  Experimental  Psychology,  Qualitative,  Instructor's  Manual," 
§  45;  Kulpe,  op.  cit.,  §  42  ff. 

THE   CONSCIOUSNESS   OF   SPACE 

a.    The  Extensity  Consciousness 

§  2.  The  teaching  of  this  book,  that  there  is  an  elemental 
consciousness  of  extensity,  accords  with  the  prevailing  doctrine 
of  contemporary  psychology.  It  has  been  disputed,  none  the  less, 
by  acute  psychologists  who  urge  that  the  consciousness  of  ex- 
tensity is  no  distinctive  and  elemental  experience  but  rather  a 
fusion  in  which  the  consciousness  of  eye  or  hand  movements 
predominates.  This  account  (the  empiricist  theory,  as  it  is  called) 
of  the  extensity  consciousness  is  based  mainly  on  two  facts, 
abundantly  proved:  (i)  that  the  newly  born  and  those  recently 
recovered  from  congenital  blindness  are  unable  rightly  to  estimate 
distances  and  to  compare  shapes;  and  (2)  that  our  consciousness 
of  form  and  of  position  includes  the  consciousness  of  eye  and 
of  hand  movements.  But  these  admitted  facts  do  not  disprove 
the  occurrence  of  an  elementary  extensity  consciousness.  They 
prove  that  the  space  consciousness  is  a  complex,  including  con- 
sciousness of  movement;  and  that  the  capacity  to  measure  and 
to  compare  forms  and  distances  grows  with  experience.  In  other 
words,  the  empiricists  prove  that  the  consciousness  of  space  is  more 
than  an  elemental  extensity  experience,  not  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  space  is  devoid  of  an  elemental  extensity  consciousness. 

The  truth  is  that  the  empiricist  theory  is  intended  to  oppose 
the  so-called  nativistic  doctrine  —  the  assertion  that  we  are  born 
with  a  ready-made  consciousness  of  space.     Against  such  a  view 

334 


Appendix,  Section  IV.,  §§  1-4  333 

the  argunu'Uts  of  the  t'in[)iriiists  d,)  hold.  But  it  is  not  iiropi-r 
to  fonfound  the  '  nativistic  '  tearhln<;  al)out  the  time  of  the  earli- 
est space  eonseiousness  with  the  'sensationalist'  doctrine  of  an 
cxtensity  element.  For  bibliography,  cf.  M.  W.  Calkins,  "An 
Introduction  to  Psychology,"  ])p.  495,  496;  and  add  on  the  sen- 
sationalist side,  Kbbinghaus,  Grundziigc,  pp.  422  lY.;  Titchener, 
"Text-book,"  I.,  1909,  §  12;  S.  Witasek,  "  Grundlinien  der  Psy- 
chologie, "   1908,  p.   187. 

b.   The  Consciousness  of  Apartness 

§  3.  On  the  consciousness  of  apartness,  cf.  especially,  Ebbing 
haus,  op.  cit.,  436-437,  and  Lipps,  cited  by  Ebbinghaus,  p.  431. 
The  doctrine  of  Chapter  IV.  differs  from  that  of  Lipps  and  Ebbing- 
haus in  regarding  the  consciousness  of  apartness  not  as  elemental 
but  as  fusion  of  the  sensational  consciousness  of  extension  with 
tlie  relational  experience  of  plurality  ("  more^han-one-ness').  Eb- 
l)inghaus  tends  to  confuse  this  el(>mental  I)ut  relational  conscious- 
ness with  the  more  complex  and  jiartly  sensational  experience  of 
apartness. 

Von  Erey  has  shown  by  experiment  that  successive  e.xcitation 
of  end-organs  of  pressure  lying  .side  by  side,  however  close  to  each 
other,  gives  rise  to  distinguishable  pressure  .sensations;  but  that 
the  ])ressures  thus  distinguished  are  not  always  localized,  eitlier 
correctly  or  incorrectly.  Thus,  a  subject  niay  recognize  two 
stimuli  on  his  wrist,  but  may  be  unable  to  tell  whether  one  is  above 
or  beside  the  other.  Von  Erey  inclines  to  the  belief  that  the  ba.sis 
of  distinction  between  these  sensations  must  be  a  difference  in 
l)ressure  quality  (ein  qualitatives  MerkzcicJien) ;  but  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  two  sensations  dilTcr  in  intensity  or  in  ex- 
tensity,  rather  than  in  quality.* 

c.  Local  Signs 

§  4.  Besides  being  able  to  localize  excitations  from  two  stimuli 
ever^'body  can  localize  fairly  well  the  excitation  from  a  single 

*  \'on  Frcv  uiid  Mt'tzrirr,  "Die  Raiimsclnvclle  dor  Haul  bei  Succcssiv- 
reizung,"  Zcitschr.fiir  Psychol,  u.  Physiol.,  Bd.  2y,  i6i  Cf.,  esp.  178  ff. 


336  Supplemciil  to  Chapter  IV.  [Pages 

stimulus  applied  to  the  skin.  If  1  sit  blindfolded  and  some  one 
touch  me  with  i^encil  point  on  forehead,  hand,  or  chest,  and  if 
I  am  then  ref|uired  myself  to  touch  the  point  of  stimulation,  I 
shall  succeed  api)roximately,  although  not  without  errors.  And 
I  shall  be  able  to  describe  in  words  the  place  of  contact.  Evi- 
dently, this  consciousness  of  the  point  of  contact  presupposes  the 
consciousness  of  the  body  as  a  whole.  The  problem  is  to  ex- 
plain why  the  stimulation  of  a  single  point  of  the  skin  should 
excite  the  far  more  complex  consciousness  of  the  body  as  a  whole, 
or  that  of  a  region  of  the  body.  Since  the  time  of  Lotze,  that 
character  or  accompaniment  of  a  tactual  sensation  through  which 
it  is  referred  to  one  part  or  another  of  the  body  has  been  called 
the  tactual  local  sign.  Similarly,  the  character  of  a  visual  sensa- 
tion through  which  it  is  'referred'  to  ofie  part  or  another  of  the 
field  of  vision  is  called  the  visual  local  sign. 

There  are  two  theories  of  the  local  sign,  (i)  According  to  the 
first,  or  kinaesthetic,  theory,  suggested  by  Lotze,  the  local  sign  of 
either  a  visual  or  a  pressure  sensation  is  the  consciousness  (per- 
ception or  imagination)  of  an  habitual  reflex  movement  of  eye  or 
of  hand.  (Such  consciousness  of  movement  may  be  supplemented 
by  a  concrete  visual  image  of  the  part  of  the  body  stimulated,  or 
by  a  verbal  image,  as  of  the  word  'forehead,'  'arm.')  The  local 
sign  of  a  visual  sensation  is  the  eye  movement  necessary  to  secure 
excitation  of  the  fovea  by  the  stimulating  object.  The  local  sign 
of  a  pressure  sensation  differs  with  the  portion  of  the  body 
excited  —  it  may  be,  for  example,  the  imagination  of  the  move- 
ment by  which  a  pencil,  touching  the  wrist,  slides  toward  the 
fingers. 

According  to  (2)  the  other  view,  which  may  be  called  the  ele- 
ment-theory, there  is  in  every  sensation  an  immediately  realized, 
unspatial  character  due  to  the  specific  position  of  the  bodily 
structures  which  are  excited  —  due,  for  example,  to  the  excitation 
of  more  or  less  closely  crowded  skin  end-organs  or  retinal  structures. 
This  unnamed  character*  is  to  be  confused  neither  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  color  or  of  pressure,  nor  with  the  experience  of  visual 

*  Cf.  Von  Frey  and  Mctzner,  quoted,  p.  335,  above. 


6S-72]  Appendix,  Section  IV.,   §§  4-5  337 

or  of  pressure  intensity  and  cxtensity.     For  all  these  may  remain 
unchanged  wiiile  yet  the  ])o.sition  is  known  to  vary.* 

The  two  accounts  of  tlie  local  sign  differ  therefore  in  the  follow- 
ing way.  The  kina;sthelic  theory  conceives  the  local  sign  as 
associated  jjerce])lion  or  imagination  of  movement ;  the  '  nativistic ' 
or  elemental  theory  conceives  it  as  an  indescribable  element  of 
the  sensation.  But  both  agree  in  the  important  negative  teaching 
that  the  local  sign,  because  it  is  the  character  of  a  single  sensation, 
is  not  itself  a  consciousness  of  place.  For  the  consciousness  of  place, 
or  position,  is  a  consciousness  of  apartness  —  that  is,  of  more-than- 
one-ness.  It  cannot  then  be  a  constituent  either  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  stimulation  of  one  skin-jjoint,  or  of  the  consciousness  of 
any  one  point  in  the  field  of  vision.  In  the  words  of  James: 
"although  a  feeling  of  .  .  .  l)igness  may,  a  feeling  of  j)lace  cannot 
possibly,  form  an  immanent  element  in  any  single  sensation."  f 

d.  Visual  Geomclriral  Illusions 


> — o 


§  5.  The  classification  and  explanation  of  the  geometrical  illusions 
is  a  topic  at  once  too  technical  and  too  unsettled  for  detailed  dis- 
cussion in  this  ^^^_^  f  j^^ 
book.       Visual 
space    illusions 
may  roughly  be  e« 

grouped  as   (l)  ^^^-  *4-  —  The  Muller-Lycr  Illusion. 

illusions  of  size,  best  illustrated  by  the  Mliller-Lyer  figure  in  which 
the  line  ab,  though  objectively  equal  to  eh,  appears  longer;  and 
(2)  illusions  of  direction.  To  the  latter  class  belong  (a)  the  tw-o- 
dimensional  illusions  illustrated  by  the  Zollner  figure,  in  which  the 
lines  ab  and  cd,  though  parallel  each  with  cf,  yet  seem  to  diverge 
from  it  in  opposite  directions,  J  and  by  the  Poggendorf  illusion, 

*  Cf.  E.  Hcring,  and  C.  S.  Myers,  op.  cit.,  238  fT.,  with  bibliography,  p.  242. 
In  favor  of  this  view  are  urged  (i)  the  alleged  testimony  of  introspection;  (2) 
the  fact  that  localization  occurs  so  soon  after  congenital  blindness  that  there 
has  been  no  time  for  setting  up  hat)itual  eye  movements. 

t  "The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  154,  end. 

X  Cf.  p.  72,  above,  for  a  variant  of  this  fiinire. 
Z 


338 


Supplement  to  Chapter  IV. 


[Page 


/ 


^ 


/ 


z  ^^ 


in  wliich  the  short  line  a/,  though  really 
a  continuation  of  a/>,  seems  {iis])laced  down- 
ward; and  {li)  the  three-dimensional  illu- 
sions of  perspective,  of  which  the  example 
best  known  is  Schroder's  figure.  This  seems 
N  to  represent,  especially  if  c  be  fixated,  the 
upper  side  of  a  staircase,  at  other  times  — 
more  readily  if  h  be  fixated  —  the  under 
side  of  the  same  stairs. 

The  types  of  explanation  most  frequently 
applied  to  these  illusions  are  either  in  terms 
of  perception  or  in  terms  of  attention.  To 
the  first   group  belong  the  following  theo 


h       f        a 

Fig.   25.  —  The  Zollntr 
Illusion. 


(i)  The  figures  are  explained  as  illusions 
of  reversible  perspective.  It  is  pointed  out 
that  the  Schroder  illusion  changes  according 

as  the  line  ah  seems  nearer  or  farther  from    « ' 

the  obsen^er.      Such   an    explanation,  while 

it  obviously  holds  in  some  cases,  seems  arti- 
ficial as  applied  to  other  illusions.     In  case 

of    the    Mijller-Lyer    illusion,    for    example 

(Figure     24),    it    would    suppose    that    the 

longer   line    appears    nearer    the   observer; 

but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  line  db  seldom 

if    ever  seems   nearer    than    cd.      Carefully 

scrutinized,   also,    this    explanation   through 

reversible    perspective    virtually    reduces    to 

one  or  other  of  the  remaining  explanations, 

for    the    consciousness    of    perspective,    or 

distance,   is    either  identical  with    the   con- 


\. 


Fig.  26 

dorf  Illusion 


The  Poggen- 


*For  summary  of  facts,  and  brief  discussion  of  theories:  Sanford,  op. 
cit.,  1898,  Chapter  VII.,  pp.  212  ff.;  Titchener,  Experimental  Psychology, 
Qualitative,  Teachers'  Manual,  1901,  pp.  303  ff.  (Cf.  especially  bibliog- 
raphy, pp.  305  ff.)  Cf.  also  Ebbinghaus,  Grundziidge,  2ter  Band,  ite 
Lieferung,  1908,  pp.  51  ff. 


72] 


Appendix,  Sir  I  ion   IV.,   §  5 


stiousncss  of  inovi'im'iit   or  clsr  is  cliaractcri/ed   hv  some  spec  iai 
depth  element.* 

(2)  The  second  ])ercei)lual  ihrory  <>f  these  ilkisions  offers  different 
accounts  of  differcnl  illusions,  but  these  all  a<^ree  in  explainin_i,' 
the  illusi(.)ns  not  through  eye  movements  hut  through  certain 
innate  retinal  factors. f 

(3)  The  third  theory  explains  the  illusions  as  due  to  eye  move- 
ments.! In  its  earlier  form  this  theory  supposed  that  corre- 
sponding, point  by  point,  with  the  peripheral  changes  due  to  (jur 


Fig.  27.  —  Schroder's  Stair  Figure. 

eye  movements  perceptions  of  these  movements  occur,  and  that 
accordingly  these  spatial  illusions  are  the  consciousness  of  actual 
movements:  that  the  line  cb,  for  example,  in  Figure  24,  seems 
shorter  than  ah  because  the  eye  actually  executes  a  shorter  move- 
ment.    In  this  extreme  form  the  eye-movement  theor}^  is,  however, 


*  Cf.  p.  341,  below.  Ebbinghaus  groups  this  with  the  Lijips  theory  (cf. 
footnote,  next  but  one)  as  association  theory. 

t  For  details,  cf.  E.  Hering,  Beitriigc  zur  Physiologic,  Heft  i,  1861 ; 
also  Myers,  op.  cil.,  pp.  304,  298,  296. 

X  The  enumeration  of  these  three  types  of  explanation  leaves  out  of  ac- 
count not  only  many  detail-e.xplanations  and  all  forms  of  the  explanation  of  the 
illusions  as  mainly  phenomena  of  attention,  but  the  systematic  doctrine  of 
Lipps  ("  Raumaesthetik  u.  geometrisch.  optische  Tiiuschungen,"  iSg"), 
based  on  the  view  that  we  regard  every  figure  as  a  sort  of  personil'ied  com- 
bination of  opposing  mechanical  forces. 


340  Supplement  to  CJiaplcr  IV.  [Pages 

experimentally  disproved  l^y  the  experiments  of  Stratton,*  Dodge,t 
J  udd,  X  3,nd  others.  These  experimenters  have  photographed 
the  actual  eye  movements  made  during  observation  of  different 
forms,  and  have  shown  that  we  do  not  have  an  exact  conscious- 
ness of  the  movements  actually  performed  by  our  eyes.  For,  in 
the  first  place,  as  any  ordinary  obsen^ation  of  a  moving  eye  con- 
firms, the  eye  invariably  makes  a  jerky  movement  in  passing 
slowly  over  the  field  of  vision,  and  yet  we  are  totally  unconscious 
of  these  pauses  in  the  apparently  continuous  movements  of  the 
eye.  And,  in  particular,  the  movements  of  our  eyes  in  regarding 
such  figures  as  that  of  Miiller-Lyer  are  not  of  the  sort  which,  on 
this  theory,  are  demanded.  It  simply  is  not  true  that,  in  looking 
at  Figure  24,  I  am  conscious  of  my  eyes  as  following  the  outward 
sweep  of  the  lines  ad,  ae,  bf,  hg,  and  that  thus  I  overestimate  ab, 
whereas  I  underestimate  cb  because  my  eye  movements  are  arrested 
by  the  inward  turn  of  ch,  ci,  bf,  and  bg.  For  experiments  have 
shown  cases  of  the  Miiller-Lyer  illusion  in  which  there  were  no 
'frequent  «r  marked  modifications  of  the  eye  movements'  in 
overestimating  ab,  and  in  which  a  short  movement  in  looking  at  cb 
was  supplemented  by  'a  secondary  movement  which  .  .  .  carries 
the  eye  to  the  true  extremity  of  the  underestimated  figure. '§  Ex- 
periments on  the  ZoUner  illusion  show  that  for  three  out  of  four 
subjects  the  eyes  were  dellected  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  of 
the  illusion.! I 

Evidently  the  theory  that  the  eye  movements  vary  precisely 
with  the  illusion  and  that  the  illusion  is  itself  a  consciousness  of 
definite  eye  movements  must  be  abandoned.  Yet,  none  the  less, 
the  Yale  experiments  show  a  parallelism,  though  irregular  and 

*  Wundi's  Philosophische  Studien,  XX.,  p.  336,  and  Psychol.  Review,  1906, 
pp.  82  ff. 

t  "Five  Types  of  Eye  Movement,"  Journal  of  Physiology,  1903,  VIII.,  pp. 
307-329. 

J  Cf.  below. 

§  C.  H.  Judd,  "The  Muller-Lyer  Illusion,"  Yale  Psyclwlogical  Studies, 
1905,  N.S.,  Vol.  I.,  p.  79*. 

II  "The  Ziillner  Illusion,"  Judd  and  Courten,  ibid.,  p.  136. 


72-7,?]  Appendix,  Sedion  IV.,   §§  5-6  341 

incomplete,  of  eye  movements  and  illusion.*  Tlic  writer  of  this 
book  accordingly  holds  it  probable  that  (1)  some  more  or  less 
vague  consciousness  of  eye  movements  is  a  constituent  not  only 
of  our  ordinary  space  consciousness  but  of  this  consciousness  of 
illusions;  that  (2)  it  is  impossible  that  specitic  illusions  can  be 
explained  by  precisely  corresponding  eye  movements;  that  (3) 
we  must  therefore  suppose  a  characteristic,  but  so  far  undescribed, 
cortical  change  produced  by  the  eye  movements  and  in  part,  at 
least,  conditioning  the  illusion. f  It  must,  however,  be  admitted 
that  so  general  a  conclusion  leaves  almost  unanswered  the  special 
problems  raised  by  these  geometrical  i!lusit)ns.  And  it  well  may  be 
that  the  illusions  are  explicable  rather  in  terms  of  attending  and 
of  relating  than  in  terms  of  sensation,  whether  retinal  or  motor.  J 

c.  I .  The  Nature  of  the  Consciousness  of  Depth 

§  6.  Hering,  James,  and  Stumpf  are  the  main  upholders  of  the 
doctrine  that  we  are  immediately  and  elementally  conscious  of 
depth  as  distinguished  from  surface.  Cf.  Hering,  Beitrdge  zur 
Physiologie,  V.,  and  Hermann's  Handbuch  d.  Physiol.,  III.,  pp. 
572  fif. ;  Stumpf,  "Die  Ursprung  der  Raumvorstellung,"  1873, 
Chapter  H.;  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  pp.  212  ff.  Most  contemporary 
psychologists,  however,  though  they  admit  an  elemental  factor  in 

*  Yale  Psychological  Studies,  1905,  N.S.,  I.,  pp.  81-,  in-,  135.' 
t  Professor  Judd's  conclusion  is  stated  in  these  words:  "Whatever  sensory 
impulses  can  be  brought  into  coordination  and  equilibrium  by  a  single  act 
will  be  grouped  together.  Whatever  sensory  impulses  must  be  responded 
to  by  a  succession  of  acts  will  be  grouped  apart."  (Yale  Psychol.  Studies 
op.  cit.,  p.  225-.) 

X  For  explanation  in  terms  of  attention,  cf.  R.  Schumann,  Beitrdge, 
Zcitschr.  fur  Psychol.,  Bd.  23,  i  ff.,  Bd.  24,  i  ff.,  Bd.  30,  241  ff.,  321  ff.,  and 
Ebbinghaus,  cited  on  p.  338,  pp.  69,  79,  83,  et  al.  For  explanation  in  terms 
of 'analytic'  and  'synthetic'  apprehension,  cf.  Benussi,  "  Zur  Psychologic 
des  Gestalterfassens,"  in  Mcinong's  "  Untersuchungen  zur  Gegenstands- 
theorie,"  1904,  pp.  303  ff.  For  summary  of  these  theories  and  for  a  some- 
what similar  explanation  of  the  tactual  illusions  of  filled  and  unfilled  space, 
cf.  Helen  Dodd  Cook,  "Die  taklile  Schiitzung  von  ausgefulllcn  und  leeren 
Strecken,"  .irchiv/Ur  die  gesamtc  Psychol.,  1910,  XVI.,  csp.  pp.  539  ff. 


342  Supplement  to  Chapter  IV.  [Pages 

all  s])ace  consciousness,  yet  teach  in  agreement  with  the  doctrine 
of  this  book  that  the  consciousness  of  distance,  or  depth,  is  com- 
plex, including,  along  with  the  elemental  consciousness  of  mere 
bigness  or  extensity,  other  elements  and,  in  particular,  either  a 
consciousness  of  movements  or,  at  any  rate,  a  consciousness  due 
to  movements.  Cf.  Ebbinghaus,  op.  eit.,  §  38,  pp.  423  ff.,  and  Lipps 
there  cited. 

2.   The  Conditions  of  the  Depth  Consciousness 

{a)  Disparate  Images 

§  7.  It  is  certain  that  the  occurrence  of  disparate  retinal  images 
—  that  is,  of  right  and  left  eye  images  which  differ  slightly  — 
is  an  occasion  of  our  consciousness  of  depth;  for  otherwise  the 
stereoscopic  illusion  could  not  exist.  Hering  holds,  indeed,  that 
the  occurrence  of  these  disparate  images  is  the  sole  and  sufficient 
explanation  of  the  visual  depth  consciousness.  An  apparently 
decisive  objection  to  this  view  is  the  fact  that  depth  is  perceived 
in  monocular  vision  when  the  occurrence  of  more  than  one  retinal 
image  is  entirely  excluded.* 

{b)  Accommodation 

§  8.  The  monocular  visual  perception  of  depth  is  probably 
conditioned  by  accommodation,  since  it  occurs  when  one  eye  is 
closed  so  that  only  a  single  retinal  image  can  be  formed.  Yet  (i) 
as  Baird  has  shown,  some  individuals  seem  to  lack,  or  nearly 
to  lack,  the  monocular  consciousness  of  depth. f  And  (2)  as 
Judd  has  proved,  by  photographing  eye  movements,  parallel 
movements  of  the  closed  eye  are  present  in  monocular  vision: 
in  other  words,  accommodation  does  not  occur  alone,  but  is  ac- 

*  Cf.  Baird,  cited  below,  p.  192. 

t  For  the  statement  and  criticism  of  a  theory,  that  of  F.  Hiilebrand,  which 
denies  the  influence  on  the  depth  consciousness  of  sensations  due  to  accom- 
modation, cf.  J.  W.  Baird,  "The  Influence  of  Accommodation  and  Convergence 
upon  the  Perception  of  Depth."  Ainer.  Jour.  0/  Psychol.,  1903,  XIV.,  pp. 
150-200,  csp.,  pp.  163,  165,  192,  200.  k 


74-79]  Appendix,  Section   IV.,   §§  ')-io  343 

companicd  hy  hiiTnular  eye  movements/'-'  I'inally  (3)  all  ex- 
j)crimenters  agree  that,  in  monocular  vision,  the  distance  of  far 
objects  is  less  accurately  measured  than  that  of  near  objects  or, 
in  technical  terms,  that  "  the  limens  of  approach  are  uniformly 
less  tlian  those  of  recession."  Baird  explains  this  phenomenon 
by  the  sup|)()sition  that  the  relaxation  of  the  ciliary  muscle,  when 
one  regards  far  objects,  occasions  fainter  tactual-motor  sensations 
than  the  tension  oi  the  muscle  when  one  accommodates  for  near 
objects. t 

(r)  Convergence 

^^  9.  Changes  in  the  convergence  of  the  eyeballs,  like  disjiarate 
images,  are  invariable  correlates  of  the  binocular  consciousness 
of  depth  an(i  distance.  There  is,  however,  a  marked  difference 
in  the  two  situations.  In  perceiving  depth  one  obviously  cannot 
at  the  same  lime  i)erceive  the  retinal  images,  whereas  one  always 
perceives,  however  inattentively,  the  changes  in  convergence  of  the 
eyes.  If  I  hold  my  two  forefingers  Ijefore  my  eyes,  approximately 
in  the  line  of  clearest  vision,  the  one  about  a  foot  and  the  other 
about  two  feet  away  from  me,  and  if  then  I  look  from  one  to  the 
other  I  am  distinctly  conscious  of  the  movements  which  are  made 
as  the  eyeballs  converge  less  or  diverge  more.  Not  merely, 
then,  are  convergence  and  divergence  conditions  of  depth  percep- 
tion, but  the  consciousness  of  the  greater  or  less  convergence  is  a 
constituent  of  tlie  deptli  or  distance  consciousness. 

/.   Auditory  Localization 

§  10.  A  discussion  of  auditory  localization  must  take  account  of 
its  physical  and  physiological  conditions  and  of  its  psychic  nature. 
Such  a  discussion  may  profitably  be  based  on  an  enumeration  of 
the  more  important  facts  of  auditory  localization,  as  established 
by   experiment.     These   are   the    following:  — 

I.    Monaural    localization,    that    is,  localization    with    one   ear 

*  Cf.   Vale  Psyclwlogical  Studicx,  igo7,  \i\}.  ,v/'~,^>7- 

t  Op.  lit.,  pp.  iy6-i97.  Hillcbraiul  had  urged  the  phenoimiuin  as  prcxif 
that  accouuiiodaliou  is  not  a  condition  of  monocular  depth  consciousness. 


344  Supplement  to  Chapter  IV.  [Pages 

when  the  other  is  deaf  or  else  artificially  closed,  is  far  less  accurate 
than  binaural  localization.* 

2.  A  sound  from  the  right  is  never  confused  with  a  sound  from 
the  left.     This  is  the  outcome  of  many  thousand  tests.* 

3.  (a)  Sounds  given  in  the  median  plane,  that  is,  from  front 
to  back,  are  constantly  confused.  All  investigators  agree  on  this 
point.  Yet  median  plane  localization  is  capable  of  great  im- 
provement.f  {b)  Many  other  pairs  of  'confusion  points'  occur, 
symmetrically  situated  with  reference  to  the  point  at  which  the 
monaural  stimulus  is  most  intense. J 

4.  Discrimination  of  the  direction  of  two  sounds  is  keener  when 
the  sounds  are  given  near  the  front  and  near  the  back  (not,  how- 
ever, in  the  exact  front  or  back)  than  when  given  at  the  sides. § 

5.  Equidistant  sounds  seem  to  vary  both  in  intensity  and  in 
distance  with  different  positions.  In  particular,  a  sound  at  the 
side  (near  the  'aural  axis')  seems  louder  and  nearer  than  a  sound 
in  another  position.  || 

6.  {a)  Sounds  seem  to  vary  in  timbre  and  even  in  pitch  with 
different  positions,  {b)  Complex  tones  —  the  tones  of  the  voice, 
for  example  —  are  better  localized  than  simple  tones,  such  as  those 
of  a  tuning-fork,  ^f 

On  these  results  of  experimentation  a  consideration  of  the 
physical  conditions  of  localization  has  now  to  be  based.  Several  in- 
ferences from  the  facts  may  be  made  with  some  assurance.  First, 
binaural  localization  depends  either  [a)  on  the  intensity,  or  (b)  on  the 
pitch  and  timbre,  of  sound  stimuli,  (a)  A  sound  stimulus  affects 
the  right  and  left  ear  differently  according  as  it  is  situated  more  to 
the  right  or  more  to  the  left.  Localization  is  due  in  large  part  to 
this  'binaural  ratio  of  intensities.'  This  is  argued  from  the  facts 
(i  and  4,  in  the  enumeration  just  given)  that  binaural  localiza- 

*  All  investigators.  On  paragraph  2,  cf.  especially,  Matsumoto,  and  Prcycr, 
p.  568.  The  authors  named  in  the  footnotes  of  liiis  section  are  cited  in  full  on 
p.  349,  below. 

t  Pierce,  pp.  85  ff.  J  Cf.  Starch,  1905,  p.  26. 

§  Cf.  especially  Bloch,  pp.  29  ff.;    Starch,  1905. 

II  Starch,  1907,  pp.  2  ff. ;    Gamble  and  Starch,  pp.  427  ff. 

^  Starch,  1907,  pp.  29  ff.    Cf.  Pierce,  149  ei  al. 


/S-So]  Appendix,  Scilion   I\'.,   §  lo  345 

tion  is  superior  to  monaural;  ami  that  sounds  at  the  front  or  baek 
are  better  discriminated  than  sounds  at  the  side.  F(jr  a  sound  near 
the  front  or  the  back  affects  the  two  ears  with  nearly  e(|ual  in- 
tensities, and  consequently  a  change  in  the  ratio  of  these  intensities 
is  readily  noticed.  The  occurrence  of  confusion  points  is  another 
argument  to  this  conclusion,  for  the  binaural  ratio  of  sounds  at 
confusion  points  is  the  same.  Yet  (b)  variations  in  timbre  and  in 
])itch,  as  well  as  variations  in  intensity,  are  conditions  of  l)inaural 
localization.  This  is  argued  from  the  introspection  of  observers, 
(cf.  6  above),  and  from  the  improvement,  through  practice,  in 
median  plane  localization  when  sound  intensities  are  equal  for 
the  two  ears.     (Cf.  3  (a).) 

Second,  monaural  localization,  also,  is  due  both  lo  variations  in 
tlie  intensity  and  to  variations  in  the  pitch  and  the  timbre  of  sound 
stimuli,  (i)  The  dependence  of  monaural  localization  on  the 
intensity  of  sound  is  shown  by  the  relatively  accurate  and  mainly 
monaural  localization  of  sounds  given  in  the  aural  axis.  (Cf.  5, 
on  p.  344).  (2)  The  significance  of  pitch  and  timbre  is  shown 
by  the  cases  of  monaural  localization  (inaccurate,  to  be  sure)  of 
sounds  which  are  not  near  the  aural  axis. 

The  physiological  conditions  of  auditory  localization  are  ne.xt 
to  be  discussed.  They  are  not  so  readily  assigned,  and  four 
different  theories  have,  in  fact,  been  held.  Auditory  localization 
has  been  attributed :  7?r5/,  to  the  excitation  of  specific  organs  in 
the  semi-circular  canals;*  and  second,  to  the  cutaneous  e.xcitation 
of  the  shell  and  drum  of  the  ear.f  With  greater  probability,  audi- 
tory localization  is  explained  as  due,  third,  to  specific  brain  pro- 
cesses, in  particular,  to  processes  corresponding  respectively  with 
the  consciousness  of  right  and  of  left.t  Fourth  and  finally,  as  the 
preachers  used  to  say,  auditory  localization  has  been  attributed  to 
the  occurrence  of  reflex  movements,  especially  of  head  movements.  § 

*  Preyer,  criticised  by  Brcucr. 

t  Wundt,  Grundziige  der  physiol.  Psychologic,  II.*,  pp.  4S6  fif. 
X  Stumpf,  Tonpsychoiogic,  II.,  pp.  51  ff. 

§  Munsterberg.  But  cf.  pp.  346'  ff.  below,  for  modification  of  the  theory 
as  first  stated. 


346  Supplement  to  Chapter  IV.  [Pages 

Of  these  four  physiological  theories,  the  first  has  been  decisively 
disproved  *  and  for  the  second  there  is  no  im[)ortant  evidence.f 
In  default  of  any  further  explanation  one  has,  thus,  to  choose  be- 
tween the  last  two ;  and  such  a  choice  at  once  involves  the  problem : 
What  is  the  nature  of  the  consciousness  of  the  position  of  sounds? 
Two  types  of  description  are  in  the  field  —  the  nativistic  and 
the  empiricist.  The  first  or  nativistic  theory,  corresponding  with 
the  theory  of  specific  brain  processes,  either  holds,  with  Stumpf, 
that  special  sensations  of  right  and  left  occur  or,  with  Pierce,  it 
asserts  simply  that  "auditory  impressions  originally  possess 
positional  characters."  The  second,  or  empiricist,  account  of 
auditory  locaHzation  teaches  that  the  primary  constituents  of  the 
distance  consciousness  are  certain  movements  or  tendencies  to 
movement  excited  by  the  varying  intensities  and  qualities  of 
sounds. 

The  writer  of  this  book  inclines  to  adopt  the  'motor'  theory 
just  stated.  According  to  this  view,  auditory  as  well  as  visual 
localization  is  primarily  describable  in  terms  of  perception  or 
imagination  of  bodily  motion  supplemented,  for  all  seeing  people, 
by  visual  imagination  of  the  body  and  its  environment.  The 
movements,  perceived  or  imagined,  which  condition  this  con- 
sciousness may  be  movements  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  or  even  eye 
movements,  toward  the  source  of  sound.  The  physical  conditions 
of  these  movements  are  the  varying  intensities  and  qualities  of 
sound  stimuli. 

Two  amplifications  of  this  statement  are  necessary.  It  must 
be  noticed,  in  the  first  place,  that  such  a  motor  theory  need  not 
imply  that  every  consciousness  of  position  is  conditioned  by  a 
definite  reaction,  reflexly  excited,  and  that  it  consists  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  precise  reflex  movement.     The  notorious  errors 

*  Cf.  Breuer,  Bloch,  p.  18;  Pierce,  139  ff.,  esp.  p.  142'.  The  point  of 
Bloch's  criticism  is  that  all  sound  waves  must  affect  the  semicircular  canals 
alike,  since  all  reach  it  through  the  external  meatus. 

t  Cf.  Angell  and  Fite,  pp.  236,  246.  It  should  be  stated  that  this  criticism 
does  not  deny  the  fact  that  the  pinna,  or  shell  of  the  ear,  may  dellect  the 
direction  of  sound-waves  and  thus,  indirectly,  affect  localization.  Cf. 
Bloch,  pp.  36',  48^;    Starch,  1905,  p.  24. 


7R-.S0]  Appendix,  Seel  ion  IV.,  §  10  347 

of  localization,  aiul  the  failures  of  attempts  to  demonstrate  an 
cxat  t  parallel  between  bodily  movements  and  accurate  localiza- 
tions, make  this  view  untenable.*  It  will  be  observed,  in  the  second 
place,  that  a  motor  theory  is  entirely  compatible  with  an  admission 
of  the  significance  of  visual  imagination  (either  the  imagination 
of  feet,  face,  or  hair,  or  the  imagination  of  certain  j)arts  of  the 
ordinary  environment)  in  the  consciousness  of  'up'  and  'down,' 
'front'  and  'back.'  It  is  even  possible  that,  in  the  developed 
localizing  consciousness  of  some  subjects,  these  visual  images  may 
have  crowded  out  the  motor  consciousness.  Originally,  however, 
and  probably  in  most  adult  e.xperiences,  these  visual  images  are 
supplementary  to  the  percejjts  or  images  of  instinctive  motor  re- 
actions  to   the   source  of  sound. 

It  is  at  once  evident  that  this  theory  is  readily  harmonized 
with  the  facts  established  by  obsen^ation.  In  particular,  it 
accounts  for  the  lack  of  confusion  between  right  and  left.  And 
it  explains  the  errors  in  localizing  sounds  in  the  median  [)lane,  for 
such  sounds  are  equidistant  from  right  and  left  ears,  and  there  is 
consequently  no  tendency  to  move  rather  in  the  one  direction  than 
in  the  other.  It  has  furthermore  a  decisive  advantage  over  every 
visual  theory  in  that  it  offers  an  e.xplanation  of  the  consciousness 
of  right  and  of  left.  For  how  conceivably  can  right  be  distin- 
guished from  left  in  purely  visual  terms?  Right  and  left,  as  Kant 
long  ago  pointed  out,  are  perfectly  symmetrical,  and  accordingly 
there  .seems  to  be  nothing  by  which  to  distinguish  either  the  visual 
(or  the  merely  tactual)  consciousness  of  the  right  of  my  body 
from  that  of  the  left.  The  psychologist  has,  therefore,  to  adopt 
either  the  motor  theory,  which  conceives  the  right  as  'that  which 
is  realized  to  be  more  mobile,'  or  he  has  to  espouse  the  Stumpf- 
Preycr  theory  of  .specific  right  and  left  sensations.  This  Stumpf 
theor}',  it  will  be  admitted,  is  readily  harmonized  with  many  facts 
of  localization,  yet  it  is  open  to  important  objections:    (i)  The 

*  Thi.s  admission,  rouplod  with  t!ic  rccogniu'on  of  hixiy  and  cvi-  movr- 
mcnls,  as  well  as  head  movements,  as  conditions  of  localization,  seems  to 
meet  the  objections  raised  by  liloch  (p.  19)  and  by  Pierce  (pp.  150  fT.)  to  the 
Miinsterberg  theory. 


348  Supplement  to  Chapter  IV.  [Pages 

tht'Dry  requires  the  hypothesis  of  j)recisely  similar  end-organs 
whose  excitation  results  in  different  sensations  merely  because 
the  organs  are  situated  respectively  to  right  and  to  left.  This  sup- 
position clearly  is  contrary  to  physiological  analogy.  (2)  Many 
children  learn  but  slowly  to  distinguish  right  from  left,  and 
some  i)eo[)le  never  learn  to  make  the  distinction  save  through 
artificial  associations,  that,  for  example,  of  the  left  with  the  ring 
finger.  This  would  scarcely  be  possible  if  there  were  immediate 
and  original  sensations  of  right  and  of  left.  (3)  Simultaneous 
sounds  of  the  same  quality,  given  one  to  the  right  ear  and  one 
to  the  left,  fuse  into  one  sound  attributed  to  an  intermediate  posi- 
tion. This  fact  is  readily  explicable  by  the  supposition  of  a  single 
movement  as  resultant  of  stimuli  to  two  opposed  movements,  but 
is  not  easily  harmonized  with  the  hypothesis  of  distinct  right  and 
left  sensations.  For  these  reasons,  the  Stumpf  theory  can  scarcely 
win  assent,  and  Pierce's  form  of  the  nativistic  theory  is  too  in- 
definite to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  localization  theory.* 

The  strongest  objection  to  this  modified  form  of  the  motor 
theory  is  based  on  the  results  of  experiments  showing  that  two 
sounds  of  different  quality  simultaneously  given,  one  from  the 
right  and  one  from  the  left,  are  often  simultaneously  attributed  to 
approximately  their  actual  positions.  Such  localization  seems  to 
involve  an  opposition  and  consequent  cancelling  of  rightward  by 
leftward  movement. f  The  objection,  however,  loses  most  of  its 
force  when  it  is  remembered  first  that  the  memory  of  movements 

*  Pierce  seems  virtually  to  admit  that  undifferentiated  'positional  charac- 
ters '  play  no  part  in  localization,  for  he  says  (p.  193-)  "When  I  say  that  a  sound 
is  'here'  or  'there'  ...  I  mean  .  .  .  the  sort  of  reaction  that  must  be  made 
in  order  that  the  sounding  body  may  be  seen  or  touched  or  brought  to  the 
position  of  most  distinct  hearing."  His  main  argument  for  positional  charac- 
ters is  based  on  the  fact  that,  under  experimental  conditions,  a  sound  may 
be  localized  in  the  head,  and  on  the  conclusion  that  such  localization  must  be 
elemental  because  (p.  181)  "neither  vision  nor  touch  has  any  actual  experience 
with  the  endocephalic  masses."  This  observation,  however,  directly  contra- 
dicts that  of  the  writer  and  of  others,  who  certainly  sometimes  have  a  visual 
image,  very  schematic,  of  the  interior  of  the  skull. 

t  Cf.  von  Kries,  p.  249;    Bloch,  pp.  17-18. 


■j^-So]  Appendix,  Scdioii  IV.,  ^  lo  34() 

may  perhaps  persist  when  actual  inoveinent  is  clicckccl,  and 
second,  that  so-called  simultaneous  localization  may  well  consist 
in  a  consciousness  of  rightward  swiftly  succeeded  by  that  of  left- 
ward movement. 

Bibliography.  —  J.  R.  Angell,  A  rreliminary  Study  of  the  Signifi- 
cance of  Partial  Tones  in  the  Localization  of  Sound,  Psychol.  Rev., 
1903,  X.,  I  IT. ;  Angkll  and  Fitk,  The  Monaural  Localizalion  of  Sound, 
Psychol.  Rev.,  1901,  VIII.,  225  ff.  and  449  IT.;  K.  Bloch,  Das  binauralc 
Iloren,  pp.  61.  \\'iesbaden,  1893  (of.  Zeitschr.  fur  Ohrcnheilkuiide, 
1^93^;  J-  Brkuek,  Ubcr  die  Funktion  dcr  Otolithenapparale,  PJliiger's 
Archiv,  1891,  48,  195  ff. ;  E.  A.  Gambli:,  The  Perception  of  Sound 
Direction  as  a  Conscious  Process,  Psychol.  Rev.,  1902,  IX.,  pp.  357  ff. ; 
Gamble  and  Starch,  W'eiicsiey  College  Studies,  Psychol.  Rev.,  1909, 
XVI.,  pp.  416  ff. ;  J.  vox  Kkies,  Uber  das  Erkennen  der  Schallricht- 
ung,  Zeitschr.  fur  Psychol.,  1890,  I.,  236  ff. ;  M.  Matsumoto,  Re- 
searches on  Acoustic  Space,  Yale  Studies  in  Psychology,  V.,  1897; 
II.  MiJNSTERBERG,  Raumsinn  desOhres,  m  Bcitrdg  zur  experimcntallcn 
Psychologic,  II.,  1889;  Miixstkrberg  and  Pierce,  The  Localization 
of  Sound,  Psych.  Rev.,  1894,  I.,  461  ff. ;  W.  Preyer,  Die  Wahrnehmung 
der  Schallrichtung  mittiest  der  Bog  ngange,  Pfliiger's  Archiv,  1887,  XL., 
586  ff. ;  D.  Starch,  Perimetry  of  the  Localization  of  Sound,  Part  I., 
University  of  Iowa  Studies  in  Psychology,  1905;  Part  II.,  ibid.,  1908; 
K.  Stumpf,  Uber  den  psychologischen  Ursprung  der  Raumvorstellung, 
1873;  Ton  psychologic,  I.  (1883),  esp.  pp.  207-210;  II.  (1890),  pp.  50  ff. ; 
V.  Urbantschitsch,  Zur  Lehre  von  der  Schallrichtung,  Pfluger's 
Archiv,  1881,  XXIV.,  579  ff. ;  W.  Wundt,  Grundzuge  der  physi- 
ologischen  Psychologic,  II.^  1902,  486  tT. ;  Wilson  and  Myers,  British 
Journal  of  Psychology,  1908,  II.,  363  ff. 

§  ir.  Bibliogr.'\phy.  —  On  the  consciousness  of  Jiarmouy  and  of  melody : 
cf.  above,  pp.  315  ff.  on  beats;  al.so  Ebbixghaus,  Grundziigc,  pp.  298; 
H.  VON  Helmholtz,  Sensations  of  Tone,  1895,  chapter  XII. ;  K.  Stumpf, 
Tonpsychologie,  II.,  esp.  §§  23-26,  28;  and  Diffcrenztone  und  Kon- 
sonanz,  Zeitschr.  fiir  Psychol,  1905,  XXXIX.,  269  ff. ;  R.  Konig,  Uber 
den  Zusammenklang  zwcicr  Tone,  Poggeiidorff'sAnnalen,  CLVIL,  p.  177, 
cited  by  El)binghaus,  op.  cil.,  pp.  305,  308;  F.  Kruger,  Das  Bewusstsein 
der  Konsonanz,  1903;  M.  Meyer,  Uber  Kombinationslone  u.  s.  w., 
Zeitschr.  fur  Psychol.,  1896,  XL,  177;  F.  Weinmann,  Zur  Struktur  dcr 
Melodic,  Zeitschr.  fiir  Psychol.,  1904,  XXXV'.,  340  ff. 


350  Supplement  to  Chapter  IV. 

§12.  Bibliography.  —  On  the  consciousness  of  rhythm:  T.  L. 
Bolton,  Rhythm,  American  Journal  of  Psycliology,  1893,  I.,  14c;  IT., 
310  fT.;  E.  Meumann,  Untersuchungen  zur  Psychologic  und  Aesthetik 
des  Rhythmus,  Philos.  Studien,  1894,  X.,  249  tT.,  393  fi". :  M.  K.  Si\iiTH, 
ibid.,  1900,  71  IT.,   197  ff. 


SF.CTION   V. 

I.  The  Psychology  of  Instinct 

§  I.  The  study  of  instinct  is  common  ground  to  biologist  and 
lo  psychologist  proper.  From  the  Ijiological  point  of  view  the 
instinct  is  an  unlearned,  or  innate,  reaction  of  organism  to  environ- 
ment, normally  characteristic  of  a  family  or  species,  and  j)re- 
sumably  of  use  to  the  race  and  often,  also,  to  the  individual. 
(A  distinction  sometimes  made  between  the  instinctive  as  co- 
ordinated and  complex  reaction  and  the  reflex  as  simple  seems  to 
the  writer  to  add  an  unnecessary  character.  A  baby's  first  vague 
movements,  though  uncoordinated,  are  properly  called 'instinctive. ') 

The  psychologist  is  concerned  both  ^\^th  the  instinctive  bodily 
reaction  as  sequent  or  accomjjaniment  of  the  conscious  relation 
of  self  to  environment  and  with  the  instinctive  consciousness  — 
whether  jjerceptual  or  emotional.  (For  modes  of  consciousness 
as  well  as  movements  may  be  distinguished  as  instinctive  or 
acquired.)  In  both  cases  the  fundamental  distinction,  never  to 
be  obscured,  is  between  the  unlearned  and  the  acquired.  In 
other  words,  a  mode  of  consciousness  or  a  reaction  which  has  not 
been  acquired  is  to  be  called  instinctive,  even  if  one  cannot  as  yet 
prove  it  to  be  a  race-activity,  and  even  if  one  cannot  prove  it  to 
be  u.seful  in  the  perpetuation  or  development  nf  the  race.  In 
truth,  the  utihty  of  an  activity  or  experience  is  a  trait  too  difficult 
of  observation  and  demonstration  to  be  named  as  primarj''  mark  of 
instinct.  Accordingly,  the  definition  of  'instinctive  action'  as 
'something  purposive  but  involuntary'*  subordinates  the  funda- 
mental to   the  secondary  character. 

*  Wundt,  "Lectures  on  Human  and  .\nimal  Psyrliology,"  XXN'II.,  §  i, 
Kng.  tr.,  p.  395.  Cf.  Schneider,  "Der  thierische  Wille,"  p.  Oi,  and  James, 
"Psychology,  Hricfcr  Course,"  p.  30T. 


352  Sitpplcmcnl  to  Chapter  V.  [Pag^' 

Yet,  though  the  instinct  he  not  defined  as  useful,  it  rcinains 
true  that  the  constant  result  of  biological  study  is  to  discover  the 
usefulness  of  instinctive  reactions.  For  the  individual,  indeed, 
an  instinctive  act  may  be  useless  or  perilous  —  for  example,  the 
water  hen  flicks  her  tail  before  the  undertail  has  grown  white 
so  as  to  serve  as  signal;  and  the  insect  dies  in  the  act  of  laying 
her  eggs;  Ijut  for  the  race  the  instinctive  activity  is  reasonably 
inferred,  if  indeed  it  is  not  olxserved,  to  be  of  use.  And  llic  utility 
of  instinctive  reactions  is  the  presupposition  of  all  theories  a!)out 
their  origin. 

From  three  different  points  of  view  one  may  profitably  classify 
instincts.  There  is  first  the  contrast  between  habitual  instincts, 
such  as  walking  and  swimming,  and  instinctive  movements  which 
are  seldom,  or  even  once,  performed  —  the  reaction,  for  example, 
of  the  yucca  moth  to  the  flower  which,  once  only,  it  fertilizes  with 
the  pollen  of  another  flower  that  opens  on  one  night  only.  More 
important,  practically,  is  a  chronological  distinction.  There  are 
early  instincts,  such  as  pecking  and  sucking,  and  deferred  instincts 
—  walking,  for  example,  and  biting.  Indeed,  specific  instincts, 
mental  as  well  as  bodily,  mark  off  successive  life  stages  from  each 
other.  There  is  an  age  when  most  children  are  instinctively  social, 
followed  —  and  perhaps  preceded  —  by  a  period  of  instinctive 
shyness.  There  is  an  age  when  a  boy  is  instinctively  a  hunter, 
or  a  collector  of  treasure.  The  wise  teacher  will  eagerly  foster 
and  stimulate  the  transitory  instincts  which  should  issue  in  perma- 
nent habits,  and  will  limit  the  outflow  of  the  dangerous  instincts. 
The  child  thus  trained  may  form  gracious  habits  of  social  inter- 
course which  will  tide  him  over  the  shallows  of  his  shy  age,  and 
may  outgrow  his  tormenting  instinct  without  forming  habits  of 
cruelty. 

This  reference  to  the  training  of  instinct  suggests  the  third  dis- 
tinction, pedagogically  most  important  of  all,  that  between  un- 
modified and  modified  instincts.  The  main  difference,  as  James 
has  pointed  out,  between  animals  and  men  is,  from  this  standpoint, 
not  as  usually  stated,  that  animals  have  many  instincts  and  men 
only  a  few.     On  the  contrary,  the  difference  is  simply  this :    that 


89]  Appendix,  Section   V.,   ^^  1-2  353 

anim;il  instinrts  arc  largely  unnKxlificd,  whereas  both  the  animal 
and  the  s|)C(iri(  ally  liunian  instlni  ts  of  men  are  modified,  some- 
times indeed  completely  checked  (that  is,  'inhibited').  The 
simplest  way  of  modifying  instinct  is  by  controlling,  limiting,  and 
altering  its  objects.  The  boy's  combative  instinct  may  be  directed 
toward  weeds  and  woodpiles  in  place  of  smaller  boys,  his  ac- 
quisitive instinct  may  be  turned  in  the  direction  of  postage  stamps 
in  place  of  posters.  Again,  an  instinct  may  be  modified  by  ex- 
citing another  and  an  inhibiting  instinct.  To  the  little  child,  for 
instance,  a  strange  object  is  naturally  both  interesting  and  terrify- 
ing; and  it  therefore  rouses  the  opposite  instincts  of  apjjroach 
and  withdrawal.  The  child  may  slowly  come  close  to  the  strange 
dog  or  to  the  new  motor-car,  or  he  may  gradually  shrink  back, 
or  tinally  one  instinct  may  balance  another  and  he  may  hold  his 
ground,  neither  advancing  nor  fleeing,  but  revealing  by  hesitating 
movement  and  changing  expression  the  conllict  of  instincts.  In 
quite  parallel  fashion  the  instinctive  selfishness  of  the  older  child 
may  struggle  with  his  instinct  of  generosity.  One  may  watch 
his  vacillation  between  the  instinctive  movement  to  snatch  from 
his  playmate  tile  coveted  marbles  and  the  altruistic  instinct  to 
give  up  those  which  he  has  himself  rightfully  won. 

The  pedagogical  ap})lIration  is  clear.  Instincts  should  be 
controlled,  not  inhibited.  The  ideal  of  education  is  not  an  ascetic 
life  of  crushed  instincts,  but  rather  a  life  in  which  every  instinct 
is  brought  into  joyous  captivity  to  right  ends.  Shyness  and 
sociability,  acquisition  and  combativeness,  the  instinctive  desires 
for  personal  good  and  for  the  hapjiiness  of  other  selves,  the  sjjccific 
desires  for  food  and  wealth  and  beauty,  —  all  have  a  rightful  place 
in  life  when  coordinated  with  each  other,  directed  to  good  objects, 
functioning  at  proper  times,  and  subject,  in  the  last  resort,  to  the 
control  of  will. 

f 

II.  Tnr.  Psychology  of  Learning 

§  2.  Sharply  contrasted  with  instinct  —  natural,  inherited,  un- 
acquired —  is  learning  in  its  two  forms,  physical  and    psychical, 

2  \ 


354  Supplement  to  Chapter  V.  [Page 

the  acquisition  of  new  bodily  dexterities  or  of  novel  experiences.* 
Normally,  of  course,  the  two  forms  are  combined,  and  learning 
is  psychophysical.  The  education  of  hand  and  muscle  implies 
a  corresponding  training  of  reasoning  and  will;  and  the  coordina- 
tion of  movements  accompanies  the  coordination  of  thoughts. 
The  acquisition  of  new  bodily  reactions  is  biologically  important 
because  the  animal  possessed  only  of  fixed,  inherited  instincts  is 
helpless  in  face  of  violent  changes  in  his  environment :  the  animal, 
for  example,  who  devours  every  food  succumbs  to  poisons  or  to 
fishhooks.  On  the  psychic  side,  the  inability  to  learn  would  imply 
the  lack  of  creative  imagination  and  of  reasoning,  —  the  two  main 
forms  of  psychic  learning.  A  creature  which  could  learn  nothing 
would  simply  retain  its  original  stock  of  percepts,  feelings,  and 
reactions ;  it  would  receive  like  impressions  day  after  day,  and  would 
react  on  them  in  the  old,  inevitable  ways.  It  would  be  unaffected 
and  unmodified  by  its  own  experiences. 

The  main  purpose  of  this  section  is  to  make  the  distinction, 
particularly  as  regards  psychical  reactions,  between  the  indi\idual 
and  the  social  form  of  learning. f  A  preliminary  statement  is  im- 
portant. All  learning,  whether  physical  or  psychical,  presupposes 
consciousness  in  the  form  of  memory.  For  this  reason,  indeed, 
conservative  biologists  propose  as  test  of  consciousness  the  ability 
to  modify  instinctive  reactions  and  to  profit  by  accidental  ex- 
perience. Contemporary  comparative  psychology  largely  con- 
cerns itself  with  the  experimental  study  of  animal  learning. 
The  first  result  of  these  studies,  constantly  in  progress,  has  been 
the  positive  proof  that  animals,  low  and  high  in  the  biological 
scale,  learn  by  individual  experience.  Thus,  Yerkes  has  shown 
by  his  experiments  that  turtles  can  learn  new  reactions :  his  turtles, 
while  crawling  to  the  base  of  an  inclined  plane  for  food,  acci- 
dentally fell  from  its  side,  and  learned  to  repeat  this  fortunate 
method  of  shortening  the  path  to  food.|  Evidently  this  perpetua- 
tion of  an  accidental  reaction  indicates  that  the  turtles  remembered 

*  Cf.  p.  117. 
t  Cf.  p.  252. 
X  Popular  Science  Monthly,  1901,  LVIII.,  pp.  519  ff.,  esp.  p.  524. 


Sg]  Appendix,  Section  V.,  §  2  355 

the  fall  and  its  results.  Similar  experiments  on  birds,  rodents, 
and  the  higher  vertebrates,  offer  conclusive  proof  of  an  ability 
to  learn  new  reactions.  Certain  e.xperiments  of  Professor  Jennings 
seem  ts)  prove  also  that  even  some  unicellular  animals  alter  their 
reaction  according  as  the  stimulus  is  posterior  or  anterior. 

All  these  are  cases  of  purely  individual  learning.  By  social 
learning  is  meant  learning  by  imitation;  and  it  is  still  a  moot 
question  whether  or  not  animals  learn  by  imitation.  It  is  ncces- 
sar>'  to  distinguish  sharply  between  imitation  and  mere  fortuitous 
and  instinctive  repetition  —  as  when  the  roosters  of  a  barnyard 
crow  in  swift  succession,  not  imitatively,  but  because  all  react  im- 
mediately to  their  environment.  A  second  important  distinction 
must  be  made  between  merely  mechanical  and  reflective  imitation. 
It  is  altogether  likely  that  many  animal  reactions  are  "  mechanical 
imitations,  known  as  such  by  the  observers,  not  by  the  performers, 
in  which  the  action  of  one  animal  serves  as  the  direct  stimulus 
(of  another  animal's  act)."*  Reflective  imitation,  however, — 
imitation  in  the  only  strictly  psychological  sense,  —  involves  one 
animal's  consciousness  that  he  is  repeating  the  act  of  another. 
It  is  obviously  difficult  to  prove  experimentally  that  imitation  in 
this  sense  occurs.  Many  experiments,  notably  those  of  Thorndike, 
have  told  against  the  probability  of  animal  imitation.  Dogs,  cats, 
and  monkeys  have  been  shut  up  with  other  animals  which  have 
learned  to  perform  certain  simple  movements,  by  which  to  release 
themselves  from  captivity  or  to  obtain  food,  and  yet  the  newcomers 
have  failed  to  imitate  the  successful  reactions  of  their  companions. 
With  still  other  animals,  however,  notably  with  anthropoid  apes, 
experiments  have  indicated  the  presence  of  reflective  imitation. 
The  unsuccessful  cases  seem  to  be  due  to  the  difficulty  of  inducing 
animals  to  hx  their  attention  on  each  other. 

The  contrast  between  the  human  and  the  animal  consciousness 
is  nowhere  more  striking.  It  has  appeared  already,  in  Chapter 
XV.,  that  a  vast  number  of  normal  human  activities  are  imitations. 
And  the  phenomena  of  hypnotism  are  merely  the  abnormal  manl- 

*  M.  W.  Calkins,  "British  Journal  of  Psychology,"  T.,  p.  284. 


356  Supplement  to  Chapter  V. 

festations  of  the  instinct  of  imitation.  Even  more,  perhaps,  through 
imitation  of  his  fellows  than  through  profiting  by  individual  ex- 
perience, man  struggles  out  of  ignorance  into  his  measure  of 
wisdom. 

BiBLioGR.\PHY.  —  On  bodily  reaction  in  general:  W.  McDougall, 
Physiological  Psychology,  Chapters  III.-V. 

On  habit:  cf.  works  cited,  p.  87;  also  S.  H.  Rowe,  Habit  Formation 
(with   bibliography). 

On  animal  psychology:  M.  F.  Washburn,  The  Animal  Mind  (with 
bibliography),  1908;   C.  L.  Morgan,  cited,  p.  87. 

On  instinct:  works  cited,  pp.  87,  351,  and  376;  H.  R.  Marshall,  In- 
stinct and  Reason;  K.  Grogs,  The  Play  of  Man,  The  Play  of  Animals; 
G.  Schneider,  Der  menschliche  Wille. 

On  learning  in  animals:  cf.  M.  W.  Calkins,  The  Limits  of  Genetic 
and  of  Comparative  Psychology,  British  Journal  of  Psychology,  I.,  pp. 
267  flf.,  and  Allen,  Bethe,  Jennings,  Loeb,  Peckham,  Small, 
Watson,  and  others,  there  cited;  also  R.  M.  Yerkes,  Journal  of  Phi- 
losophy, 1905,  II.,  141. 

On  imitation  in  animals:  cf.  E.  L.  Thorndike,  Animal  Intelligence, 
Psychol.  Review  Monograph  Supplement,  No.  4,  The  Mental  Life  of 
the  Monkeys,  ibid..  No.  15,  1901 ;  C.  S.  Berry,  An  Experimental  Study 
of  Imitation  in  Cats,  Journal  of  Campar.  Neurol,  and  Psychol.,  1908, 
XVIII.,  pp.  I  ff. ;  Haggarty,  Imitation  in  Monkeys,  ibid.,  1909,  XIX., 
pp.  337  flf;  also  BoHN,  L.  W.  Cole,  Kinnaman,  Porter. 

On  habit,  instinct,  imitation,  and  learning  in  children:  cf.  the  biographi- 
cal studies  of  child  psychology,  by  Preyer,  Perez,  Shinn,  Moore, 
E.  A.  KiRKPATRiCK,  Genetic  Psychology,  Chapters  IV.,  V.,  X.,  with 
bibliograpliies;  and  the  journals,  in  German  and  in  English,  devoted  to 
child  psychology. 


SECTION  VI. 

Attention 

§  I.  For  advocacy  of  the  view  that  attention  is  elemental,  the 
student  is  referred  to  Titchener,  as  cited  l)elow.  Attention,  or 
'clearness,'  is,  according  to  Titchener,  'an  indc|jcndent  attribute 
of  sensation'  —  that  is,  attention  is  cocirdinate  with  sensational 
intensity  and  extensity,  and  thus  (in  the  terminology  not  of 
Titchener,  but  of  the  writer)  itself  elemental. 

§  2.  The  main  difference  between  the  teaching  of  Titchener 
and  that  of  this  book  has  been  indicated  in  tlie  last  sentence. 
Titchener  holds  that  attention,  'sensible  clearness,'  as  he  calls  it, 
is  purely  sensational,  —  in  other  words,  that  we  can  attend  to 
'sensible  objects  only,'  to  sights  and  sounds,  never  to  our  affective 
ex{)erience,  our  emotions.*  The  introspection  of  the  writer  does 
not  confirm  that  of  Titchener  on  this  point.  Unquestionably, 
prolonged  attention  to  emotion  as  such,  to  one's  happiness  or  un- 
happiness,  diminishes,  [)erhaps  even  destroys,  the  affective  quality. 
In  the  words  of  Maeterlinck,  "il  n'y  a  aucun  bonheur  dans  le 
bonheur  lui  meme  tant  (ju'il  ne  nous  aide  pas  a  songer  a  autre 
chose."  But  similarly,  attention  to  [)erception  —  as  distinguished 
from  attention  to  the  perceived  —  is  likely  to  destroy  perception 
as  such,  that  is,  to  turn  perceiving  into  thinking.  The  irutli  is, 
that  introspection  is  attention. f  We  must  therefore  be  able,  if 
only  for  a  brief  time,  to  attend  to  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness, 
else  we  should  not  introspective ly  distinguish  the  affections  from 
their  sensational  accompaniments. | 

*  The  question  whether  we  attend  to  relations  does  not,  for  Titchener, 
e.\ist,  because  he  believes  that  the  relational  consciousness  reduces  to  sensa- 
tional elements.     (Cf.  p.  364.) 

t  Cf.  Titchener,  op.  cit.,  p.  175.  "  Psyi  holoRiral  observation,"  or  intro- 
spection, means,  he  says,  "attention  to  the  j)henomena." 

%  For  Titchener's  consideration  of  this  point,  cf.  his  Outline,  §  33, 

357 


358  Supplement  to  Chapter   VI. 

There  is  great  vagueness  and  indecision  in  most  discussions  of 
attention.  The  reader  is  referred  especially  (i)  to  the  discussions 
of  Wundt,  in  the  "Lectures  on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology," 
XVII.,  the  "Grundriss"  (§  15),  and  the  "Grundziige  der  physio- 
log.  Psychologie, "  III.'',  1903,  pp.  331  fif. ;  (2)  to  C.  Stumpf,  "  Ton- 
psychologie,"  I.,67ff. ;  II.,  276  ff.;  (3)  to  E.  B.  Titchener,  "The 
Psychology  of  Feeling  and  Attention,"  1908  (with  extensive  bibli- 
ographies) . 

The  doctrine  of  Titchener  has  been  briefly  summarized.  Wundt 
teaches  the  elemental  character  of  attention,*  or  clearness,  though 
not  always  from  a  purely  structural  standpoint.  Stumpf's  opinion 
is  that  "  attention  is  identical  with  interest  and  interest  is  a  feeling." 
Accordingly,  he  defines  attention  as  "  Lust  am  Bemerken  selbst.  "f 
He  emphasizes  the  prolongation,  through  association,  of  the  object 
of  attention. 

For  discussion  of  the  neural  conditions  of  attention,  cf.  Titchener, 
op.  cit.,  pp.  206  and  359  (Note  42);  W.  McDougall,  Mind,  1903; 
M.  Meyer,  Psychol.  Review,  1908,  XV.,  pp.  358  £f. ;  1909,  XVI., 
pp.  36  £f. ;  and  (for  summary  to  date),  A.  J.  Hamlin,  Amer.  Jour, 
of  Psychol.,  1896,  VIIL,  3  fif..  Chapters  I.-III. 

Cf.  also  M.  W.  Calkins,  "  An  Introduction  to  Psychology, "  Ap- 
pendix VII.  (for  brief  classification  of  types  of  attention  doctrine), 
and  W.  B.  Pillsbury,  "  L' Attention, "  1906,  and  "Attention," 
1908. 

*  Cf.  "Lectures"  (cited  above),  Eng.  Tr.,  p.  247:  "It  is  as  impossible  to 
define  the  clearness  of  an  idea  as  to  define  the  intensity  or  quality  of  a  sensa- 
tion." 

t  Op.  ciL,  II.,  p.  279. 


SECTION  VII. 

Association  and  Memory 

§  I.  The  following  table  states  the  relations  between  fusion 
and  association  on  the  one  hand,  successive  and  simultaneous 
association  on  the  other.  The  term  'assimilation'  may,  however, 
be  used,  as  on  page  65  of  this  book,  to  cover  both  the  elemental 
and  the  complex  form  of  simultaneous  association.  A  simul- 
taneous association  consists  essentially  in  the  persistence  of  the 
first  term  of  a  successive  association. 

FUSION    AND   association 

I.    Fusion  (of  peripherally  excited  elements). 
II.    Association  (of  terms,  one  or  both  of  which  are  centrally  excited) :  — 
a.    Simultaneous. 

1.  Assimilation  (of  elements). 

2.  Comple.x  simultaneous  association. 
/).   Successive. 

For  sliglitly  varying  uses  of  these  terms,  and  for  further  distinction 
between  forms  of  fusion,  cf.  Klilpe,  "  Grundriss  der  Psychologie," 
§§  42  ff.;    and  Wundt,  "Grundziige,"  11.^,  pp.  526  ff. 

§  2.  On  the  classification  of  association  as  total  or  partial, 
cf.  James,  "The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  I.,  pp.  569  IT., 
578  fif.,  and  "  Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  pp.  259  fiF.  For  criti- 
cism of  the  older  division  between  '  association  by  contiguity '  and 
'association  by  similarity,'  cf.  F.  H.  Bradley,  "The  Principles  of 
Logic,"  p.  294 ;  James,  "  Principles,"  I.,  pp.  590  fif. ;  M.  W.  Calkins, 
"Association,"  pp.  12  ff.  For  examples  of  association  suitable  for 
analysis,  cf.  this  Appendix,  Section  XVII.,  pp.  403-404. 

§  3.  The  study  of  the  nature  of  associations,  as  the.se  vary  from 
time  to  time,  and  from  individual  to  individual,  has  been  carried 
on  by  experiments  of  two  main  types,  'spontaneous'    and  'con- 

359 


360  Supplement  to  Chapter  VII.  [Pages 

trolled.'  Spontaneous  associations  arc  very  readily  studied 
through  a  simple  experiment  (which  may  indeed  be  performed  with 
a  whole  class  of  students  as  subjects).  The  instructor  pronounces 
a  word,  directing  the  students  to  write,  as  (|uickly  as  possible, 
a  word  or  phrase  descriptive  of  the  lirst  suggested  image ;  next,  to 
write  a  word  (or  phrase)  descriptive  of  the  second  image  sug- 
gested ;  and  so  on,  for  a  given  period  —  one  minute,  for  example. 
The  resulting  scries  of  associations  is  v;orked  over  by  each  writer, 
in  order  to  discover  the  type  of  connection.  Thus,  the  association 
of  'swallow'  with  'nest'  may  be  due  to  the  writer's  interest  in 
birds,  the  association  of  '  nest'  with  '  boy'  may  be  due  to  his  recent 
reading  of  a  story  of  robbing  nests ;  the  association  of  '  boy '  with 
'blue'  may  be  due  to  the  frequency  of  liis  repetition  of  "Little 
Boy  Blue."  Experiments  of  this  sort  are  well  suited  for  com- 
paring the  associations  and  imagery  of  different  individuals  and 
groups.  A  child's  list  of  associations  differs  materially  from  an 
adult's,  a  farmer's  from  a  sailor's.  Such  a  comparison  is  facilitated 
if  the  suggestive  word  is  ambiguous  —  some  such  word,  for  ex- 
ample, as  '  swallow'  or  '  ball ' ;  for  the  first  word  on  a  given  list 
is  likely  to  indicate  an  interest  or  occupation  of  the  writer:  Thus, 
a  boy  might  write  'nest'  after  'swallow,'  while  a  physician  would 
write  'throat.' 

In  experiments  of  the  'controlled'  variety,  the  subject  is  not  left 
free  to  imagine  what  he  will,  once  he  has  been  started.  Rather,  a 
list  of  words  is  read  him  and  he  records  his  first  association  to 
each.  The  list  is  carefully  selected,  usually  with  a  view  to  further- 
ing one  sort  of  associations  rather  than  another.  The  more 
serious  experiments  are  carried  on  with  one  suljjcct  only,  and  the 
time  of  the  association-reaction  is  measured,  that  is  to  say,  the 
time  which  intervenes  between  the  moment  when  the  subject 
hears  a  word  and  the  moment  when  he  responds  with  the  word 
thus  suggested  to  him.  Controlled  association  experiments  of 
this  type  are  nowadays  used  as  a  method  of  mental  diagnosis. 
It  is  found  that  the  association-reaction  is  lengthened,  even  against 
the  will  of  the  subject,  when  the  suggesting  word  has  to  do  with 
an  emotionally  interesting  experience. 


113-115]  Appendix,  Section   VII.,   §§  3-4  361 

Professor  Miinstcrherg  lias  i^roposcd  to  test  the  connection  of 
suspected  persons  with  a  given  crime,  by  requiring  them  to  in- 
dicate the  'idea  associated'  by  each  one  of  a  list  of  words,  and  by 
including  in  the  list  words  suggestive  <jf  the  crime  or  its  surround- 
ings. Similar  experiments  have  been  used  in  the  effort  to  discover 
both  from  the  nature  and  from  the  time  of  the  associations  the 
source  and  objects  of  the  mental  disturbance  of  the  cerebrally 
diseased. 

Bibliography.  —  On  this  form  of  mental  diagnosis:  C.  G.  JuxG, 
Dlagnostische  Associationsstudicn,  Bcitrdgc  ziir  cxp.  Psychopalliologic, 
I.,  1906,  and  Zur  Tatbestandsdiagnostik,  Zcilsclir.  fiir  angewandte 
Psychologic,  1908,  Bd.  I.,  163  ff. ;  F.  Kramer  and  W.  Stkrn',  Scll)sl- 
verrat  durch  .'\ssocialion,  Beitrdge  zur  Psychol,  dcr  Aussage,  1906,  IV.; 
H.  MuNSTERBicRG,  On  thc  Witness-stand,  1908,  csp.  pp.  73  ff. ;  M.  Wkrt- 
HJiiMER,  E.\  peri  men  to  lie  Untersuchungen  zur  Tatbestandsdiagnostik, 
Archiv  filr  die  ges.  Psychol.,  1905,  VI.,  59  fF. ;  R.  M.  Yerkes  and  C.  S. 
Berry,  The  Association  Reaction  Method  of  Mental  Diagnosis,  Ameri- 
can  Journal   of  Psychology,    1909,    XX.,  22-37    (with    bibliography) 

On  'psychoanalysis'  (the  form  of  mental  'diagnostic'  in  which  the 
experimenter  is  in  complete  ignorance  of  his  subject's  mental  history) : 
Breuer  u.  Freud,  Uber  den  psychischen  Mechanismus  hysterischer 
Phanomcnc,  Neurolog.  Zentralblatt,  1*893;  Freud,  Zur  Psychopathologic 
des  Alltagslebcns,  1904;  J.  II.  Schui.tz,  Psychoanalyse,  Zcilschr.  fiir 
angewandte  Psychol.,    1909,  II.,  440  tT.  (with  l)ibliography). 

§  4.  On  memorizing,  cf.  E.  A.  Gamble,  The  Reconstruction 
Method  in  Memorizing,  Chapter  III.;  Mbbinghaus,  Orundziige, 
§61;  H.  J.  Watt,  The  Economy  and  Training  of  Memory,  1909; 
St.  Augustine,  Confessions,  Book  X.,  Chapter  8  ll. 


SECTION   VIII. 

I.   Experimental  Study  of  Recognition 

§  I.  Experiments  on  the  nature  of  the  familiarity  consciousness 
were  planned  and  carried  through  by  A.  Lehmann  (Wundt's 
Philosop/iistiic  Sdtdien,  Bd.  VIL,  pp.  169  ff.).  He  tested  several 
observ'ers  with  a  series  of  66  odors,  and  found  (in  opposition  to 
his  own  prepossession)  that  in  7  per  cent  of  the  cases  the  subjects 
recognized  the  odors  without  being  able  to  name  them  or  to  connect 
them  with  other  experiences.  Similar  experiments  were  carried 
out,  in  the  Wellesley  College  laboratory  in  greater  number  and 
under  stricter  conditions,  with  the  results  summarized  above  (p. 
126).  Cf.  Gamble  and  Calkins,  Zcitschrift  fur  Psychol,  und 
Physiol,   der  Sinnesorgane,    1903,    Bd.  32,  pp.  177  £f. 

II.   Relational  Elements  of  Consciousness 

§  2.  The  doctrine  of  elements  of  consciousness  which  are  neither 
sensational  nor  in  any  sense  coordinate  with  the  affections  or 
feelings  is  upheld  by  psychologists  of  the  most  diverse  schools. 
Herbert  Spencer  was  the  first  to  name  and  to  discuss  them,^*  but 
his  teaching  attracted  little  notice,  and  thirty  years  passed  before 
Ehrenfels  rediscovered  the  Gestaltqualitdten,^  and  James  wrote 
of  the  'transitive  feehngs'  of  'and,'  'but,'  and  'if.'^  To-day 
two  groups,  or  schools,  and  several  individuals  among  Continental 
psychologists  and  a  considerable  number  of  English-speaking 
psychologists  more  or  less  unequivocally  teach  the  occurrence 
of  elements  of  consciousness  neither  sensational  nor  affective. 
There  is,  first,  the  school  of  Meinong,^  Hofler,^  and  Witasek," 

*  The  Arabic  numerals  of  this  section  (Appendix  VHI.,§  2)  refer  to  the 
numerals  of  the  Bibliography  which  follows  (p.  365).  The  section  is  con- 
densed and  revised  from  a  paper  in  The  A:ncrican  Journal  of  Psychology, 
iQog,  XX.,  pp.  269  ff. 

362 


Appendix,  Sir(io)i    VIII.   §  2  363 

which  discusses  relational  elements  under  the  names  'fundirle 
Inhalte''  and  ' Gegensldndc  hoherer  Ordnung.^  The  second  of  the 
Continental  schools  is  that  of  Kiilpe  and  the  students  and  workers 
in  the  Wiirzburg  Institut,  Watt/  Ach,**  Messer,"  Biihler,'"  and 
others.  Individual  upholders  of  the  theory  are  Binet,"  Stumpf  ^- 
with  his  doctrine  of  Gebilde  and  Verhdltnissc,  CorneHus/^  and, 
finally,  in  spite  of  great  divergence  in  terminology,  Ebbinghaus  " 
and  Miinsterbcrg.''' 

Of  writers  in  I*>nglish,  Stout.""'  R.  S.  Woodworth,^^  and  the 
writer  of  tliis  book,''*  have  most  explicitly  taught  the  occur- 
rence of  these  elements  of  consciousness,  neither  sensational 
nor  affective,  which  are  especially  characteristic  of  what  is  called 
thought.  Judd,  also,  describes  concept  and  judgment  in  terms 
of  relation ;  ^'  and  Angell,  in  spite  of  his  denial  of  literally  image- 
less  thought,  seems  to  indicate  by  his  term  'meaning'  a  relational 
experience.-" 

It  thus  appears  that  the  introspection  of  a  score  of  psychologists, 
of  different  periods,  prepossessions,  and  training,  speaks  un- 
equivocally in  favor  of  the  occurrence  of  elements  neither  sensa- 
tional nor  affective. 

It  must  be  added  that  this  testimony  has  been  fortified,  in 
recent  years,  by  the  attempt  to  control  introspection  through 
experimental  conditions.  One  of  the  latest  of  such  investigations 
is  made  by  Biihler,  whose  method  —  a  modification  of  that  of 
Marbe  and  Messer  —  is,  in  brief,  the  following :  He  puts  to  his 
subjects,  trained  introspecters,  questions  answerable  by  'yes'  or 
'no,'  which  are  intended  to  excite  their  thought.  After  a  ques- 
tion has  been  answered,  the  subject  at  once  analyzes  the  con- 
sciousness preceding  and  leading  to  his  answer.  The  questions 
are  suited  to  the  interests  of  the  subjects.  Illustrations  are: 
"Can  you  reach  Berlin  in  seven  hours?"  "Does  monism  mean 
the  annihilation  of  personality?"  The  results  of  the  investi- 
gation have  been  (i)  the  assertion  in  most  cases  by  the  observers 
that  they  are  distinctly  conscious  of  unsensational  and  non- 
affective  e-xperiences;  (2)  the  apparent  occurrence  of  some  cases 
where  no  image,  verbal  or  concrete,  can   be  detected;    (3)  the 


364  Supplement  to  Chapter  VIII.  [Pages 

confirmation  of  this  inlrospection  by  the  discovery  that  a  sul)ject 
often  remembers  not  the  images,  but  only  the  relation  —  say, 
of  likeness  or  of  opposition  —  in  an  earlier  experience.  Wundt^^ 
has  very  sharply  criticised  the  method  of  these  experiments  on 
the  ground,  mainly,  that  it  involves  disturbance  of  the  subject, 
and  that  it  does  not  admit  of  repetition  and  variation  of  the  ex- 
perience to  be  studied.  In  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  Biihler  suc- 
cessfully meets  this  attack,  appealing  to  the  records  of  his  subjects 
for  evidence  of  their  being  undisturbed;  and  holding  that  repeti- 
tion and  variation  are,  in  fact,  obtainable  in  the  essential  sense 
that  questions  of  the  same  or  of  regularly  varying  types  may  be 
repeated. 

Wood  worth's  method  and  results  resemble  those  of  the  Wiirz- 
burg  school,  except  that  he  confines  himself  to  the  study  of  com- 
parison (the  discovery  of  equivalent  relation),  and  that  in  one 
group  of  his  experiments  he  offers  concrete  material  —  colors 
and  forms  —  for  comparison.  Earlier  experimenters  have  found 
traces  of  relational  experiences  in  the  course  of  investigations 
concerned  primarily  with  association.  The  experiments,  for 
example,  by  which  Professor  Gamble  and  the  writer  tested  Leh- 
mann's  assertion  that  recognition  consists  in  associated  images, 
disclosed  a  large  number  of  cases  in  which  the  consciousness  of 
familiarity,  occurring  markedly  earlier  than  any  associated  images, 
is,  in  the  view  of  the  writer,  most  readily  described  as  relational 
experience. 

The  criticism  of  the  relational-element  doctrine  has,  however, 
achieved  one  important  result :  it  has  effectively  challenged  the 
assertion  that  imageless  thought  occurs.  For  it  is  always  possible 
to  question  the  completeness  and  the  accuracy  of  the  introspec- 
tion on  which  this  conclusion  is  based.  And,  as  Professor  Titch- 
ener^^  and  others  have  shown,  it  is  probable  that  introspecters 
have  often  overlooked  the  occurrence  in  thought,  and  in  recogni- 
tion, of  characteristic  kinsesthetic  and  organic  sensational  ele- 
ments. But  the  admission  that  thought  and  recognition 
contain  sensational  factors  does  not  disprove  the  result  of 
such  multiplied  introspection :   that  along  with  imagery,  and  often 


127-131]  Appendix,  Seciion    VIII.   §  2  365 

in  the  focus  of  attention  when  one  compares   and   reasons  and 
recognizes,  are  elements  neither  sensational  nor  affective. 

Bibliography.  -  The  founders  of  the  doclrine:  i.  II.  Spkmckr,  TIic 
Principles  of  Psychology,  first  cflition  (1855),  §8r,  p.  285.  2.  Chr. 
Ehrenfels,  Vurteljahrsehr.  fiir  tmssenscJuifllichc  Philos.,  XIV.,  p.  24Q, 
1890.     3.  W.  James,  I'rinciplcs  of  Psychology,  I.,  pp.  247  ff.,  with  Note. 

Writers  of  the  Meinang  School:  4.  A.  Meixong  :  Zeitschrift,  II.,  p.  247, 
1891 ;  and  XXI.,  pp.  182  fF. ;  and  Ueber  Annahmen,  1902.  5.  :\.  Hofler 
(Psychologic),  and  6.  S.  Witasek  (Grundlinicn  der  Psychologic, 
1908),  have  incorporated  Meinong's  doctrine  in  systematic  treatises. 

Writers  of  the  Wiirzburg  School:  7.  H.  Watt,  Archivf  die  gesammte 
Psychologie,  IV.,  288  ff .,  ^905.  8.  N.  AcH,  Ueber  die  Willenstatigkeit  und 
das  Denken  (based  on  experiments  carried  on  in  Wurzburg  and  in 
Gottingen),  Gottingen,  1905.  9.  Messer,  Archiv,  VIII.,  i  ff.,  1906. 
10.  K.  BUHLER,  Archiv,  IX.,  297  ff.,  1907;  XII.,  9ff.,  1908.  (.\ccount 
and  defence  of  experimental  investigation.  For  account  of  experiments 
by  similar  method,  cf.  K.  Marbe,  Experimentell-Psychologische  Unter- 
suchungcn  Uber  das  Urteil,  Leipzig,  1901.) 

Other  continental  psychologists:  11.  A.  Binet,  L'dtude  experimentelle 
de  rinlcliigcnce,  Paris,  1903.  12.  C.  Stumpf,  Erscheinungen  und  Psy- 
chische  Funktionen,  Konigl.  Akad.  d.  Wissensclmfien,  Berlin,  1907, 
pp.  7  ff.,  29  ff.  13.  H.  Cornelius,  Psychologic  als  Erfahrungswissen- 
schaft,  pp.  70,  164  et  al;  cf.  also  Zeitschrift,  XXII.,  pp.  loi  ff.  (1899), 
where  Cornelius  develops  a  teaching  of  G.  E.  Muller.  14.  Ebbinghaus 
recognizes  as  elements  only  sensations  and  affections,  while  15.  Mi'N'S- 
terberg  admits  sensations  only.  Yet  the  first  includes  under  the  head 
of  'general  attributes  of  sensation'  (Grundziige,  I.,  pp.  410  ff.)  anrl  the 
second  grouj^  in  the  class  of  value-qualities  (Grundziige,  I.,  pp.  290  ff.) 
what  are  here  considered  as  relational  elements. 

Contemporary  English-speaking  psychologists:  16.  G.  Stout,  Analytic 
Psychology,  I.,  pp.  66,  78-96;  II.,  p.  42.  17.  R.  S.  Wooihvorth, 
Imageless  Thought,  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific 
}fethod,  III.,  pp.  701  ff.,  1906;  The  Cau.se  of  a  Voluntary  Movement  in 
Studies  in  Philosophy  and  Psychology  by  Students  of  C.  E.  Carman,  pp. 
351  ff. ;  Non-Sensorial  Components  of  Sense-Perception,  Journal  of  Phi- 
losophy, etc.,  IV.,  pp.  164  ff.,  1907.  18.  M.  W.  Calkixs,  An  Introduction 
to  Psychology,  1901,  Chapter  X.  (especially  in  the  second  edition, 
190O;   Der  doppelte  Standpunkt  in  der  Psychologie,   1(705,  PP-  25  ff. 


^66  Siipplemeiil  to  Cliapter   VIII. 

iq.  C.  S.  JuDD,  Psychology,  General  Introduction,  1907,  pp.  286  flF. ; 
and  20.  J.  R.  Angkll,  Psychology,  1904,  p.  213,  et  al.,  hnplicilly  advocate 
this  view. 

Critics:  21.  I.  M.  Bentley,  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  1902, 
pp.  26911.  22.  R.  SciiiTM.WN,  Zeilsclir.  1898,  XVII.,  pj).  128  ff.  23.  E. 
B.  TiTCHENER,  E.xperimental  Psychology  of  the  Thought  Processes,  1909. 
24.  W.  WuxDT,  Ueber  Ausfragee.xperimente,  Psychologische  Sludien, 
1907,  III.,  pp.  300-360.  (A  criticism  of  Biihler.  Cf.  Biihler's  reply, 
Archiv,  XII.,  esp.  pp.  94,  103,  107;  and  Wundt's  rejoinder  to  the  reply, 
ArcJiiv,  190S,  XL);  25.  Von  Aster,  Zeitschr.  fiir  Psychol.,  Bd.  49,  56 
fif. ;  26  DiJRR,  ihid.,  313  ff.  (Cf.  Buhler's  reply,  ibid.,  Bd.  51,  108  ff.) 
27.  S.  S.  CoLViN,  Psychol.  Bulletin,  VI.,  p.  236  and  VII.,  p.  59. 

On  classification  of  relational  elements:  cf.  Buhler  and  Witasek, 
cited  above.  On  the  physiological  basis,  cf.  M.  F.  Washburn,  Psychol. 
Bull.,  VI.,  369  ff. 

On  the  consciousness  of  time:  cf.  Munsterberg,  op.  cit.,  pp.  244  ff.; 
Ebbixgh.\us,  op.  cit.,  457  ff.  (in  which  a  doctrine  of  elemental  time-con- 
sciousness is  set  forth);  and  B.  Bourdon,  La  perception  de  temps, 
Revue  Philosophique,  1907,  LXIIL,  pp.  449  ff. 

III.   The  Application  of  the  Term  '  Feeling' 

§  3.  The  term  'feeling'  is  nowadays  usually  employed  to  cover 
the  consciousness  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  and  any 
strictly  coordinate  elemental  experiences.  Both  Spencer*  and 
James, t  on  the  other  hand,  and  more  recently  W.  Mitchell,|  refer 
by  the  term  to  any  experience  whatever,  elemental  or  complex. 
This  usage  seems  to  the  writer  of  this  book  highly  convenient, 
because  there  is  no  other  single  word  which  can  well  be  put  to 
this  sendee,  whereas  '  feelings '  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness 
may  be  termed  'affections'  and  grouped  with  any  coordinate 
experiences  under  the  term  'attributive  elements.'  This  general 
application  of  the  term  'feeling'  has,  however,  met  with  little 
approval,  and  accordingly  the  word  is  seldom  used  in  this  book 
except  in  the  narrower  sense. 

*  "Principles  of  Psychology." 

t  "The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  I.,  pp.  1S5-186. 

%  "Structure  and  Growth  of  the  Mind,"  Chapter  I.,  §  3,  p.  10, 


SECTION  IX. 

Notes  on  the  Nature  of  Thought  and  Generalization 

§  I.  On  thought  as  sharing  or  shareable  consciousness,  cf. 
J.  M.  Baldwin,  "Thought  and  Things,"  Vol.  II.,  Chapter  III., 
on  "Common  Acceptance  and  Acknowledgment." 

§  2.  On  the  historically  developed  doctrine  of  the  'general 
notion, '  cf.  Locke,  "  Essay  Concerning  Human  Understanding," 
Book  III.,  Chajiter  III.,  §§  6  fif.,  Berkeley,  "Principles  of  Human 
Knowledge,"  Introduction,  §§  6-20;  also,  T.  Hu.xley,  "Hume," 
p.  112,  and  AI.  W.  Calkins,  "An  Introduction  to  Psychology," 
pp.    221    ff. 

§3.  On  conception  as  'motor'  consciousness,  cf.  Baldwin, 
"Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  Race,"  pp.  325  ff.; 
Royce  there  cited  on  j).  330;  C.  H.  Judd,  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
VI.,  p.  90. 

§  4.  According  to  a  recent  theory,  conception  is  identical  ex- 
cept in  function  with  imagination.  That  is  to  say,  imagination 
becomes  conception  merely  I)y  virtue  of  associating  similar  images. 
On  this  view,  no  characteristic  attitude  or  clement  is  invohed  in 
conception  ;  and  a  given  experience  is  conception,  or  generalization, 
not  for  what  it  is  but  for  what  it  does. 

A  very  clear  statement  of  this  \new  is  that  of  Profes.sor  Dickin- 
son Miller  {Psycholo(^ical  Revinv,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  537  ff.).  In  the 
opinion  of  the  writer.  Dr.  Miller  is  altogether  right  in  this  view 
that  the  function  of  conception  is  the  association  of  similar  images, 
but  wrong  in  the  denial  of  the  structurally  simple  consciousness 
of  generality  which  distinguishes  conception. 


367 


SECTION  X. 

Judgment,  Reasoning  and  Language 
bibliographical  notes 

§  I.  On  the  classification  of  judgment  and  reasoning,  cf.  the 
text-l^ooks  of  logic.  On  the  distinction  between  analytic  and 
synthetic  judgments,  cf.  Kant,  Kritik  of  Pure  Reason,  Introduc- 
tion, IV. 

On  the  conception  of  judgment  as  affirmation,  cf.  F.  Brentano, 
Psychologie,  Kap.  VII.,  and  Stout,  Analytic  Psychology,  Vol.  I., 
pp.  97,  99. 

§  2.  On  animal  reasoning,  cf.  C.  L.  Morgan,  Animal  Life  and 
Intelligence,  Chapter  IX.  (with  citations) ;  James,  The  Principles 
of  Psychology,  II.,  pp.  349  ff.;  Thomdike,  cited  p.  356. 

§  3.  On  the  nature  of  abstraction,  cf.  M.  W.  Calkins,  An  In- 
troduction to  Psychology,  pp.  224  ff. ;  James,  Psychology,  Brief 
Course,  pp.  248  ff. ;  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  I.,  487  fif., 
502  ff.;    IL,  332  ff. 

§§  4-5.  On  the  nature  and  origin  of  language,  and  on  the 
language  of  animals,  cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.  356  ff. ;  G.  J.  Romanes, 
Mental  Evolution  in  Man,  pp.  13S  ff . ;  W.  Whitney,  Language 
and  the  Study  of  Language,  pp.  426  ff. ;  article  on  Phik)logy  in 
Encycl.  Brilannica,  9th  ed..  Vol.  XVIII. ,  pp.  766  ff. ;  Muller  and 
the  Science  of  Language,  pp.  9  fif. ;  Max  Muller,  Science  of  Thought, 
I.,  192  ff. ;  Science  of  Language,  I.,  404  ff. ;  C.  L.  Morgan,  Ani- 
mal Life  and  Intelligence,  pp.  343  ff. 

§  6.  On  the  relation  of  language  to  thought,  cf.  Muller,  Science 
of  Thought,  I.,  pp.  50  ff. ;  W.  Whitney,  Language  and  the  Study 
of  Language,  pp.  405  ff. ;  Muller  and  the  Science  of  Language, 
pp.  26  ff.;  H.  B.  Alexander,  Visual  Imagery,  in  Psychol.  Review^ 
1904,  XL,  p.  335. 

368 


SECTION  XI. 

I.   Thr  Use  of  thk  Terms  'Subject'  and  'Object' 

§  I.  The  term  'object'  in  the  first  paragraph  of  Chapter  XI. 
is  used  not  in  the  widest  possible  sense  to  include  myself-as- 
object  (the  private,  personal  object),  but  to  refer  to  the  'other- 
than-myself, '  whether  personal  or  impersonal,  external  or  internal. 
Cf.  pp.  3  flf.  and  281,  above. 

II.   The  Nature  and  Classification  of  the  Affective 

Elements 

a.  the  sensationalist  theory  of  stumpf 

§  2.  Stumpf  distinguishes  sharply  between  pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness  (Lust  and  Unlust)  on  the  one  hand  and  higher 
feeling  (Ajfekl  or  Gemiilsbevjegimg)  on  the  other.  He  then  de- 
scribes unpleasantness  as  pain-sensation  and  pleasantness  as 
faint  form  of  the  sensations  of '  itch,'  of '  tickle,'  etc.  This  account 
is  based  mainly  on  the  following  considerations:  {a)  the  alleged 
invariable  unpleasantness  of  pain;  {b)  the  alleged  difliculty  of 
assigning  physiological  conditions  of  pleasantness  regarded  as 
unsensational;  (r)  the  belief  that  this  account  is  less  complex 
than  other  theories.     No  one  of  these  arguments  is  undisputed. 

BiBLroGRAPHV.  —  C.  Stumpf,  Uber  Gefuhlsempfindungen,  Zeit- 
schr.  filr  Psychol,  und  Physiol.  XLIV.,  i  flf.;  Von  Frey,  Die  Gefuhle, 
1894;  Bourdon,  La  sensation  de  piaisir,  Revue  philosophique,  1893; 
SoLLiER,  Le  mdcanisme  dcs  Amotions,  1905. 

In  crilkism  of  the  theory,  cf.  E.  B.  Titchf.ner,  The  Psvcholoji;y  of 
Feeling  and  .Attention,  1908,  Lect.  I.,  passim,  and  Loot.  III.;  Max 
Meyer,  The  Nervous  Correlate  of  Pleasantness  and  Unpleasantness, 
L,  Psychological  Review,  190S,  XV.,  pp.  205  IT. ;  C.  H.  JonxsTOX  in  the 
Psychological  Bulletin,  1908,  V.,  pp.  65  flf. 
2B  369 


370  Supplement  to  Chapter  XI.  [Page 


h.     THE    TRIDIMENSIONAL   THEORY   OF    WUNDT* 

Wundt  includes  in  tlie  gr()U[)  of  the  affections,  or  feelings,  four 
elements  or  (rather  classes  of  elements)  coordinate  with  pleasant- 
ness and  unpleasantness.  These  four  are:  tension  and  relaxa- 
tion (S pannung-Losiing) ,  excitement  and  quiescence  {Erregung- 
Beriiliignng).  Relaxation  is  opposed  to  tension  and  quiescence 
to  excitement,  as  pleasantness  is  opposed  to  unpleasantness,  so 
that  we  have  three  pairs  of  opposites,  or,  as  Wundt  calls  them, 
'dimensions'  of  feeling. 

The  arguments  for  this  view  may  be  summarized  as  follows: 
The  Wundtians  point  out  in  the  first  place  that  emotional  states 
differ,  according  to  common  consent,  not  merely  as  pleasant  and 
unpleasant,  but  also  as  exciting  or  quieting,  straining  or  relax- 
ing. Both  melancholy  and  terror,  for  example,  are  unpleasant 
emotions,  yet  the  first  is  quieting,  or  depressing,  while  the  second 
is  as  clearly  exciting.  This  purely  introspective  argument  is  veri- 
fied and  supplemented  by  experiment.  Alechsieff,  whose  experi- 
mental study  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  recent  of  those  put  forth 
by  members  of  the  Wundtian  school, |  stimulated  his  subjects  in 
such  wise  as  presumably  to  bring  about  emotional  experiences, 
and  recorded  both  pulse  and  breathing,  and  introspection.  The 
introspective  records  first  (i)  clearly  indicated  the  occurrence  of 
straining  and  relaxing,  exciting  and  depressing  emotions;  next 
(2)  sometimes  asserted  the  occurrence,  in  emotional  experiences, 
of  elemental  consciousness  other  than  sensations,  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness;  finally  (3)  seemed  to  show  that  pleasantness 
or  unpleasantness  may  occur  in  combination  with  any  one  of  the 
four  other  '  feelings.'  In  other  words,  the  records  indicated  that 
in  pleasurable  emotion  subjects  were  sometimes  in  a  state  of  tension, 
but  sometimes  relaxed,  sometimes  excited,  and  sometimes  depressed; 
and  that  in  unpleasant  emotion  subjects  were  now  relaxed,  now 
strained,  and  now  excited,  again  depressed.     The  objective  results 

*  This  section  is  condensed  from  a  paper  by  the  writer,  cited  in  the 
footnote  of  p.  362. 

t  "Die  Grundformen  der  Gefuhle,"  1907;  cited,  p.  373". 


174] 


Appendix,  Seel  ion  XI.,   §  2 


371 


of  these  experiments  are  suiniiiarized  hy  AlechsiclT  in  tlie  follow 
iii<^  scluMiu-  ailapled   fnun    W'lmdt  :  — 

Pulse 


Retarded 


Quickened 


Strengthened 
Pleasure    Tension    Quiescence 


Weakened       Strengthened  |  Weakened 

I  III 

Excite-        Rei.axa-      Unpleas- 


MENT  TION  ANTNESS 

Quickeneil  \  Retarded         Quickened  |  Retarded 


Weakened 


Strengthened 


Breatliing 

The  Wundtian  conclusion  from  both  sorts  of  evidence  is  the 
following:  Exj^eriences  which  are  thus  shown  to  be,  on  the  one 
hand,  introspectively  elemental,  distinct,  and  independently 
variable  and,  on  the  other  hand,  accompanied  by  clearly  dif- 
ferentiated yet  coordinated  circulatory  and  respiratory  phenom- 
ena, are  elements  of  consciousness  belonging  in  a  class  together. 
Therefore  tension-relaxation  and  excitement-quiescence  form,  with 
pleasantness-unpleasantness,  the  enlarged  class  of  the  'feelings 
(Gefuhle).' 

This  doctrine  has,  however,  found  little  favor  outside  the  nar- 
row circle  of  Wundt's  fellow-workers  and  students.  Against  the 
Wundtian  arguments  from  experiment  it  is  rightly  urged  that 
the  outcome  of  experiment  is  far  from  conclusive  in  Wundt's 
favor,  and  that  even  experiments  undertaken  from  the  same 
theoretical  standpoint  as  Alechsieflf's  issue  in  results  of  a  very 
contlicting  nature.*  In  default  of  experiment  we  are  thrown 
back  on  introspection  and,  on  this  basis,  the  writer  of  this  book 
agrees  with  the  opponents  of  Wundt  that  elemental  allective 
elements  —  or  feeling-elements  strictly  coordinate  witli  ])leasant- 

*  Cf.  .'\lechsieff,  op.  cit.,  p.  175-  et  al,  for  admission  of  the  opposing  results 
of  experimental  investigations  of  the  breathing.  For  .\lechsieff's  attempts  at 
explanation,  cf.  op.  cit.,  p.  207;  also  pp.  180-200.  For  the  report  of  experi- 
ments carried  on  in  the  Cornell  laboratory  indicating,  in  opposition  to  .■\lcch- 
sieff,  that  the  alleged  elements  do  not  vary  independently,  cf.  Hayes  and 
Titchencr,  cited  below. 


372  Supplement  to  Chapter  XI.  [Pages 

ncss  and  unpleasantness  —  are  not  discovered  in  our  emotional 
experience.  Most  of  these  critics  attempt  to  reduce  all  four  of 
the  new  'feelings'  to  kinassthetic  and  organic  sensations,  but,  in 
this  reduction,  they  ignore  the  introspective  testimony  of  Alechsiefl's 
subjects,  v^^hich  has  at  least  the  face-value  of  their  own.  In  the 
opinion  of  the  writer,  the  following  conclusions  are  truer  to  in- 
trospection :  — 

(i)  Tension  is  reducible  to  attention,  or  clearness,  plus  the 
organic  sensations  which  accompany  attention.  (The  signifi- 
cance of  this  assertion  varies,  of  course,  with  one's  doctrine  of 
attention.) 

(2)  Relaxation  probably  is  merely  the  absence  of  strain. 
Alechsiefif  himself  seems  virtually  to  imply  this.*  So  far  as  re- 
laxation is  a  positive  experience,  it  seems  to  reduce,  as  Titchener 
teaches,  to  organic  sensations. 

(3)  and  (4)  The  case  is  different  with  excitement  and  qui- 
escence {Erregung-Beruhigung).  These  are  complex,  not  ele- 
mental, experiences;  and  the  distinguishing  feature  of  them  is 
neither  the  organic  sensations  —  though  these  are  present  and 
significant  —  nor  any  new  kind  of  feeling,  but  rather  the  vivid 
consciousness  of  doubtful  future  or  of  irrevocable  past.  In  the  words 
of  Royce :  "  we  tend  to  regard  with  restlessness  whatever  tendency 
involves  our  interest  in  immediately  future  changes.  The  emo- 
tions of  .  .  .  fear,  of  hope,  of  suspense  are  accordingly  especially 
colored  by  restless  feelings.  On  the  other  hand,  the  feelings  of 
quiescence  predominate  when  .  .  .  we  regard  the  past." 

This  analysis  of  the  Wundtian  theory  has  led,  accordingly, 
to  the  conclusion  that  Wundt  is  unjustified  in  his  teaching  of  the 
two  new  pairs  of  feelings  coordinate  with  each  other  and  with 
pleasantness-unpleasantness.  Only  one  of  the  four,  namely,  ten- 
sion, is  either  elemental  or  —  in  any  sense  —  parallel  with  pleas- 
antness-unpleasantness. Relaxation,  a  second  of  these  alleged 
elements,  seems  to  reduce  to  bare  sensation,  where  the  name 
does  not  indicate  mere  absence  of  strain.  The  other  two,  excite- 
ment and  quiescence,  are,  indeed,  as  the  Wundtians  insist,  un- 

*  Cf.  op.  ci'L,  p.  222'.     Titchener  has  a  similar  criticism,  op.  cit.,  p.  145. 


174-176]  Appendix,  Section  XI.,  §§  2-4  373 

sensational;  l)ut  the  unsensational  elements  which  distinguish 
them  are  not  atTective  elements  (or  feelings),  hut  rather  relational 
elements. 

BiBLiOGRAPiiY.  —  WUNDT,  Grundzugc  dcr  Physiolog.  rsychologic, 
1902,  II.*,  pp.  284  ff.  {Cf.  Grimdriss,  1896,  1905;  Vorlesungcn  iiber 
die  Menschen  u.  Thierseele,  1897;  Gefiihl  und  Bewusstseinsanlage, 
1903);  N.  Alechsieff,  Die  Grundformen  der  Gefiihle,  Psyclwlogischc 
Stiidien,  III.,  pp.  156  ff. ;  J.  Royce,  Outlines  of  Ps}-chology,  1903,  pp. 
176  ff. ;  O.  VoGT,  Zeitschr.  fur.  Hypnotismus,  VIII.,  p.  212,  1899  (and 
other  writers  cited  by  Alechsieff  and  Titchener,  op.  ciL). 

In  criticism  0/  the  theory:  E.  B.  Titchener,  Lectures  on  Feeling 
and  .Attention,  1908,  Lecture  IV. ;  S.  P.  Hayes,  A  Study  of  the  Affective 
Qualities,  I.  The  Tridimensional  Theory  of  Feeling,  American  Journal  of 
Psychology,  XVII.,  pp.  358  ff.,  1906;  J.  Orth,  Gefiihl  und  Bewusst- 
seinsanlage, 1903;   M.  Kelchner,  Arc/iiv,  V.,  pp.  107  ff. 

III.   Notes  on  Emotion 

§  3.  On  the  classification  of  the  emotions:  cf.  A.  Bain,  Feeling 
and  Will,  pp.  71-77,  and  headings  of  Chapters  V.-X.;  H.  Hofif- 
ding.  Outlines  of  Psychology,  VI.,  B,  C,  Eng.  tr.,  pp.  233  S.; 
D.  Mercier,  Mind,  N.  S.,  IX.  and  X.;  Spinoza,  Ethics,  Part  III.; 
J.  Ward,  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  9th  edition,  pp.  67-70.  The 
classification  adopted  in  this  book  owes  most  to  HofiFding,  Mercier, 
and  Spinoza. 

§  4.  On  the  ccsthetic  consciousness :  cf.  Kant,  Critique  of 
Judgment,  Part  I.,  Book  I.,  especially  §§  1-12;  Schopenhauer, 
The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  Vol.  I.,  Book  III.,  especially  §§ 
30-35,  38,  45 ;  Vol.  II.,  Supplements  to  Book  III.,  esp.  Chapter 
39;  Schiller,  Uber  die  iisthetische  Erziehung  des  Menschen, 
Briefe  12-14,  23  ff. ;  H.  Marshall,  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  .'Esthetics, 
pp.  1 10  ff. ;  T.  Lipps,  Grundlegung  der  Aesthetik,  H.  Munsterberg, 
The  Eternal  Values,  IX.-X.,  i)p.  165  ff. ;  E.  Puffer,  The  Psychol- 
ogy of  Beauty,  especially  II.,  III.,  VIII.;  G.  Santayana,  The 
Sense  of  Beauty;  P.  Stern,  Einfiihlung  und  A.ssociation,  in  der 
neueren  Aesthetik,  Bcitriiqe  zur  Aesthetik,  Hamburg,    1898. 

{Experimental) :  O.  Kiilpe,  Der  gegenwiirtige  Stand  dcr  exper- 


374  Supplement  to  Chapter  XI.  [Pages 

imcntcllcn  Aestlietik,  Arc/iiv  fiir  die  gesammte  PsyclioL,  II., 
1906,  and  papers  there  cited;  L.  J.  Martin,  An  Experimental 
Study  of  Fechner's  Principles  of  Aesthetics,  Psychol.  Review, 
May,  1906;  R.  MacDougail,  E.  D.  Puffer,  and  R.  P.  Angier  in 
Harvard  Psychol.  Studies,  I.   (1903),  pp.  309  ff. 

On  the  sense  of  humor:  C.  C.  Everett,  Poetry,  Comedy,  and  Duty. 
Th.  Lipps,  Psychologic  d.  Komik  (includes  criticisms  of  Krae- 
pelin,  Vischer,  Lotze,  Hecker),  Philosophische  Monatshejtc, 
XXIV.  and  XXV.;  E.  Kraepelin,  Zur  Psychologic  d.  Komischen, 
Phil.  Stud.,  II.;  J.  Ziegler,  Das  Komische,  Leipzig,   1900. 

{Experimental  Study):  L.  J.  Martin,  Experimental  Prospecting 
in  the  Field  of  the  Comic,  Amer.  Jour,  of  Psychol.,  XVI.,  pp. 

35  ff- 

§  5.  On  the  relation  beticeen  physical  stimulus  and  affective 
consciousness:  cf.  Kiilpe,  op.  cit.,  §  37,  Wundt,  Grundziige  der 
Physiologischen  Psychologic,  11.^,  pp.  311  ff. 

§  6.  Accounts  of  the  bodily  conditions  of  the  affective  conscious- 
ness are,  one  and  all,  avowedly  hypothetical.  The  theory  put 
forward  in  this  book  is  a  sort  of  composite  of  certain  features  of 
the  doctrines  of  Wundt,  Flechsig,  and  Marshall.  Two  other 
doctrines,  very  recently  set  forth,  may  be  stated,  briefly,  in  the 
words  of  their  authors :  — 

(i)  Professor  Titchener  hazards  the  guess  that  the  peripheral 
organs  of  affection  are  the  free  afferent  nerve-endings  .  .  . 
distributed  through  the  various  tissues  of  the  body  .  .  .  The 
nervous  excitations,"  he  holds,  "will  vary  with  the  tone  of  the 
bodily  systems  in  which  they  are  set  up,  and  that  tone  can  itself 
vary  only  in  two  opposite  ways." 

(2)  Professor  Max  Meyer  argues  that  "  if  pleasantness  and  un- 
pleasantness are  different  in  kind  from  sensation  .  .  .  then 
the  kind  of  .  .  .  relation  between  nervous  activity  and  pleas- 
antness and  unpleasantness  is  likely  to  be  ...  different." 
Accordingly  he  attributes  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  to 
intensity  of  nerve  current.  He  supposes  that  "  while  the  cor- 
relate of  sensation  is  the  nervous  current  itself,  the  correlate  of 
pleasantness  and   unpleasantness  is  the  increase  or  decrease  of 


igo-205]  .'.ppendix,  Siuiion   XI.   §§4-8  375 

the  inti'iisity  of  a  previously  constant  current  if  the  increase  or 
decrease  is  caused  by  a  force  acting  at  a  point  other  than  the  |)oint 
of  sensory  stimulation." 

Bibliography.  —  Wundt,  Grundziigc,  11.',  ,558  ff.  Grundriss,  §  7, 
10  a;  15,  2  a;  \\.  R.  Marshall,  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  ^.sthetics,  csp. 
Chapter  V.,  §  3;  P.  I'LECHSIG,  Gehirn  und  Seclc,  pp.  89  IT.;  II.  MuNS- 
TERBERO,  Beitragc  zur  Psychologie,  IV.,  p.  216;  M.  Meyer,  Psychol. 
Review,  1908,  XV.,  pj).  306  fT. ;  E.  B.  Titciiener,  A  Text-book  of 
Psychoiog}',  1909,  §  74,  pp.  260-263. 

§  7.  The  emphasis  upon  the  occurrence  in  emotion  of  sensa- 
tional constituents  —  sensations  due  to  heart-beat,  dilation  of 
arteries,  breathing,  and  the  like  —  is  a  contribution  to  psychology 
of  Profess(jrs  William  James  and  K.  Lange.  Both  lay  such 
stress  on  this  factor  of  emotion  that  they  tend  to  underestimate 
or  even  to  ignore  the  other  structural  constituents  of  emotion  — 
the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness.  It  should  be  noted  that  this 
James-Lange  doctrine  stands  in  close  relation  to  the  conception 
of  emotion  as  doubly  personal.  I'^or  precisely  organic  sensation 
is  an  important  sensational  factor  in  my  consciousness  of  myself; 
and  kinitsthetic  sensations  of  movement  —  of  approach  and  with- 
drawal, cooperation,  and  antagonism  —  are  at  least  constituents 
of  my.  consciousness  of  other  selves. 

Bibliography.  —  Cf.  James,  IVinripies  of  Psychology,  Chapter 
XXV.  (Briefer  Psychology,  Chapter  XXIV.);  The  Physical  Basis  of 
Emotion,  Psychol.  Rci'icw,  I.,  pp.  516  IT.;  Ea.vge,  Uber  Gemiitsbc- 
weguni!;en,  (ransiatcd  by  II.  Kurella,  Eeipzig,  1887;  C.  Stumpk, 
Uber  den  Hegriff  der  Gemiitsbewegung,  Zcilschr.  fur  Psvchol.  und 
Physiol.,  XXI.,  pp.  47  ff. 

§  8.  Besides  the  reports  (cited  al)o\e,  in  jlj  3,  j).  371)  of  ex- 
periments on  affective  reactions,  the  following  reports  of  earlier 
experiments   may   be  consulted :  — 

In  favor  of  the  doctrine  that  affective  reactions  niav  be  dearly 
distinguished  as  pleasant  or  unpleasant:  IVre,  .Sensation  et 
Mouvement,  Pari^,  1S.S7;  .-\.  Lehmann,  Hau|)tgesetze  des  men- 
schlichen  Gefuhlslebens,  Ger.  tr.,  Lei[)zig,   iS()j,  and  Die  kir- 


376  Supplement  to  Chapter  XI. 

perlichen  Aiisserungen  psychischcr  Zustande,  Leipzig,  1899  und 
1905. 

In  opposition  to  the  doctrine:  Binet  et  Courtier,  UAnnee 
Psychologique,  1897,  Binet  et  Henri,  ibid.;  J.  R.  Angell  and 
H.  B.  Thompson,  Organic  Processes  and  Colisciousness,  Psychol. 
Review,  1899,  Vol.  VI.,  pp.  32  ff.  (wdtli  full  references) ;  E.  A. 
Gamble,  Attention  and  Thoracic  Breathing,  Amer.  J  own.  of 
Psychol.,  1905.  The  criticism  based  on  these  experiments  is 
strengthened  by  many  observations;  for  example,  by  observation 
of  the  warm  flush  of  shame,  one  of  the  unpleasant  emotions. 

§  9.  On  the  biological  significance  of  emotion:  cf.  Darwin,  The 
Expression  of  the  Emotions;  Spencer,  The  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology, Vol.  I.,  Part  II.,  §§  122  ff.;  Vol.  II.,  Part  IX.,  §§  497  ff.; 
James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  477  ff.; 
J.  Dewey,  Psychol.  Review,  1894,  I.,  pp.  553  ff. ;  II.,  pp.  13  ff. ; 
G.  Dumas,  Revue  Philosophiquc,  LVIIL,  LIX.  (reviewed, 
Psychol.  Bulletin,  1907,  IV.,  pp.  222  ff.) ;  D.  C.  Nadejde,  Die 
biologische  Theorie  der  Lust  und  Unlust,  1908. 


SECTION  XII. 

Will 

§  I.  In  support  of  the  teaching,  contrary  to  that  of  this  book, 
that  there  is  a  volition  or  conation  element,  cf.  G.  T.  Ladd,  Psy- 
chology, Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  1895,  pj).  211  flf. 

Readers  of  my  earlier  book,  "An  Introduction  to  Psychology," 
will  notice  that  I  have  abandoned  the  use  of  the  term  'volitit)n'  to 
designate  exclusively  the  anticii)atory  image  regarded  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  idea-psychologist.  In  this  book  volition  is  used 
as  a  synonym  for  'will.' 

§  2.  Professor  Thomdike  oppo.ses  the  conception  of  volition 
as  anticipatory  imagination  on  the  ground  that  actions  may  be, 
and  often  are,  performed  without  any  antecedent  image  of  them. 
"Any  mental  state  whatever,"  he  says,  "may  be  an  impulse, — 
may  take  on  the  aspect  of  impeller  to  an  act"  ;*  and  he  adds  that 
"percepts,  sensations,  and  emotions"  more  than  "images  and 
memories"  impel  action.*  All  this,  doubtless,  is  true.  Pro- 
fessor Thorndike  rightly  suggests  that  even  an  exhortation  to 
choice,  such  as  "Make  up  your  mind,"  may  in  actual  fact  result 
in  an  impulsive  act  and  not  in  an  act  preceded  by  antici{)atory 
image.  Yet  it  does  not  follow  that  because  an  act  may  be 
impulsively  performed,  therefore  volition  is  identical  with  impulse. 
The  truth  is  that  there  are  two  sorts  of  ideo-motor  act :  the  more 
common  impulsive  movement  which  Thorndike  describes,  and 
the  strictly  voluntary  act.  A  given  action  may  be  performed 
either  impulsively  or  voluntarily  —  either  without,  or  witli,  an- 
ticipatory consciousness. 

*  Elements  of  Psychology,  pp.  86  ff.  Cf.  R.  S.  Woodworth,  "The  Cause 
of  a  \'oIuntary  Movement,"  Carman  Commemorative  Volume,  pp.  351  fif. 

377 


SECTION  XIII. 

Faith  and  Belief 

On  the  feelings  of  realness:  cf.  A.  Bain,  Emotions  and  Will, 
pp.  510  £f. ;  W.  James  (cited,  p.  235);  J.  M.  Baldwin,  Handbook 
of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  Peeling  and  Will,  Chapter  VII.,  pp.  148 
ff.  (with  authors  there  cited) ;  Th.  Lipps,  Leitfaden  der  Psy- 
chologic, 1903,  pp.  156  ff. 

On  faith:  cf.  Baldwin,  op.  cit.,  p.  158,3;  J.  Royce,  The 
Philosophy  of  Loyalty,  1908;  H.  S.  Holland,  "Faith,"  in  Lux 
Mundi,  ed.  by  C.  L.  Gore,  pp.  1-54. 


SECTION   XIV. 

The  Social  Consciousness 

On  the  social  consriousness:  cf.  G.  Tarde,  Social  Laws,  trans- 
lated by  H.  C.  Warren,  1899;  J.  M.  Baldwin,  Social  and  Ethical 
Interpretations,  1897,  1906;  E.  A.  Ross,  Social  Psychology, 
1908;  H.  C.  Cooley,  Social  Organization,  A  Study  in  the  Larger 
Mind,  1909;  W.  McDougall,  An  Introduction  to  Social  Psy- 
chology, 1909;  G.  H.  Mead,  Social  Psychology  as  Countermart  to 
Physiological  Psychology,  Psychol.  Bulletin,  1909,  VI.,  pp.  401  fif. 

On  imitation  and  opposition:  cf.  G.  Tarde,  Les  lois  de  I'imita- 
tion;  G.  Le  Bon,  The  Psychology  of  the  Crowd;  J.  Royce,  Pre- 
liminary Report  on  Imitation,  Psychol.  Review,  1895,  II.,  pp.  217 
ff. ;    The  Psychology  of  Invention,  ibid.,  1898,  pp.  113  ff. 

378 


SECTION   XV. 
The  Religious  Consciousness 

§  I.  The  scientific  study  of  personal  relations  forms  the  most  im- 
portant problem  of  what  Professor  Stern  calls  '  psychography, '  the 
study  of  individual  selves.  In  the  effort  to  coordinate  such  studies, 
the  I nstitut/ur  angeicandte  Psychologic  has  appointed  a  special  com- 
mission (cf.  Zeilschrift  fiir  angeicandte  Psydiologie,  III.,  Heft.  3). 

§  2.  Most  of  the  current  conceptions  of  religion  are  defective 
for  one  of  two  reasons:  (i)  Some  of  them  are  so  wide  that  they 
do  not  servo  to  distinguish  religion  from  other  forms  ot  immateri- 
alism.  So,  when  Wundt  says,  "All  ideas  and  feelings  are  religious 
which  refer  to  an  ideal  existence,"  an  existence  which  fully  corre- 
sponds to  the  wishes  and  requirements  of  the  human  mind,*  he 
does  not  sufficiently  distinguish  religion  from  j)ersonal  desire  or 
from  moral  striving.  (2)  Over  against  these  inclusive  conceptions 
are  those  which  unduly  narrow  the  concejjtion  of  religion.  Thus, 
Schleiermacher  makes  of  religion  an  exclusively  emotional  ex- 
perience when  he  defines  it  as  "a  feeling  of  absolute  dejiendence 
upon  God."  t  .\nd,  on  the  other  hand,  Herbert  Spencer  confuses 
theology  with  religion,  that  is,  ])hilosophy  with  experience,  when 
he  conceives  religion  as  "the  recognition  of  a  mystery  pressing  for 
interpretation."  J  In  opposition  to  these  one-sided  views:  Professor 
Leuba's  words  deserve  quotation  ;  i^  Religion,  he  says,  is  "com- 
l)ounded  of  will,  thought,  and  feeling,  bearing  to  each  other  the 
relation  which  belongs  to  them  in  every  department  of  life." 

*  "  Ethics,"  Eng.  tr..  Vol.  I.,  p.  59.  For  Wuiult's  illuminating  treatment  of 
tlie  sources  and  beginnings  of  religion,  cf.  \'olkcrpsycliologic. 

t  "Redcn  iihcr  Religion,"  4te  .Aull.,  p.  42. 

I  "First  Principles,"  Part  I.,  Section  13,  p.  44  (4tli  edition). 

§  "The  Psychological  Nature  of  Religion,"  .•l»/CT*/<-(7«y<>/<r;/(;/  of  Theology, 
January,  1907,  p.  80,  and  "The  Psychological  Nature  and  Origin  of  Religion," 
1909,  p.  8.     (.Note  the  citations  of  the  footnotes.) 

379 


380  Supplement  to  Chapter  XV 

Many  writers  dissent  from  the  teaching  of  Chapter  XV.  that 
the  object  of  the  rcHgious  consciousness  always  is  personal. 
Professor  Leuba,  for  examj)le,  recognizes  the  'godless'  as  well  as 
the  '  personal '  religions,  though  he  lays  stress  on  "  the  significant 
fact  that  until  recently  every  existing  historical  religion  was  a 
worship  of  a  personal  divinity."  In  the  opinion  of  the  writer, 
one  not  only  conforms  to  this  historical  usage,  but  one  suitably 
distinguishes  a  clearly  marked  experience  by  limiting  the  term  to 
the  conscious  relation  of  self  to  self. 


SECTION  XVI. 
Abnormal  Psychology 

Barely  incidental  reference  has  been  made,  in  this  book,  to  an 
important  branch  of  psychology  —  the  study  of  abnormal  forms 
of  consciousness.  The  neglect  has  been,  it  must  be  admitted, 
intentional.  The  'abnormal'  is  simply  that  which  diverges  from 
the  normal,  and  must  therefore  be  studied  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  normal  consciousness.  Obviously  sucli  a  study  can  be 
undertaken  only  after  one  has  concerned  oneself  with  the  facts 
and   jjrinciplcs  of  normal  psychology. 

This  closing  section  will  speak  briefly  of  certain  of  the  more 
important  phenomena  and  forms  of  the  abnormal  consciousness 
—  discussing,  however,  only  non-pathological  e.xperiences  and 
leaving  out  of  account  all  forms  of  insanity,  the  abnormal  con- 
sciousness due  to  cerebral  disease.  The  abnormal  phenomena 
to  be  considered  are,  in  the  main,  the  following:  (i)  perceptual 
hallucinations  and  illusions;  (2)  abnormal  motor  phenomena, 
usually  'known  as  automatisms;  (3)  abnormal  suggestibility; 
and  (4)  abnormal  dissociation.  .A.ll  these  e.xperiences  occur  in 
dreams,  in  hypnosis  also,  and  in  tiie  waking  life  as  well.  We 
shall,  tlierefore,  first  brielly  study  our  dreams,  shall  next  consider 
the  state  of  hypnosis,  and  shall  then  discuss  the  abnormal  ex- 
periences of  our  waking  life.  A  final  section  will  l)e  devoted  to 
a  consideration  of  the  veridical  phenomena  alleged  to  occur  in 
all  these  states. 

I.    THE   PHENOMEN.'V  (EXCLUSIVE    OF   VERIDICAL    PHENOMENA) 

a.   Dreams 

Dreaming  is  consciousness  during  sleep.  It  is  hardly  correct 
to  s])eak  of  it  as  'abnormal,'  for  it  is  likely  that  every  one  dreams 


382  Dreams 

at  one  time  or  another.  People  who  declare  that  they  do  not 
dream  have  ])rol)al)ly  merely  forgotten  their  dreams.* 

The  essential  likeness  of  the  dream  consciousness  and  the  waking 
consciousness  should  first  he  noted,  for  it  is  often  overlooked. 
All  sorts  and  kinds  of  consciousness  occur  in  dreams.  A  structural 
analysis  will  disclose  not  only  visual  and  auditory,  cutaneous, 
olfactory,  and  gustatory  sensational  consciousness,  but  affective 
and  relational  consciousness  as  well.  It  is  indeed  admitted  on 
all  hands  that  people  remember  and  feel  in  their  dreams.  It 
is  equally  true,  though  more  often  disputed,  that  they  think  and 
reason  and  choose,  though  choice  and  reasoning  are  based  on 
absurd  premises  leading  to  impossible  outcomes. | 

Yet,  spite  of  the  likeness  of  dreams  to  the  waking  consciousness, 
dreaming  is  characterized  by  three,  at  least,  of  the  four  abnormal 
phenomena  which  have  been  named,  (i)  The  distinguishing 
mark  of  every  dream  is  the  fact  that  it  is  essentially  hallucination 
or  illusion.  %  In  my  dreams  I  externalize  unreal  people  and  far- 
away scenes  and  impossible  situations.  The  hallucination  (or 
illusion)  is  doubtless  due  to  the  dissociation  to  which  reference 
will  presently  be  made.  It  remains  uncorrected  because  of  the 
lack  of  perceptual  and  habitual  images  with  which  to  compare 
dream  images.  In  the  daytime  the  tendency  to  externalize  vivid 
images  is  corrected  by  the  incongruity  of  the  image  with  the  per- 
ceptual experience :  the  imagined  apple  tree  in  bloom  cannot  well 
form  a  part  of  the  perceived  winter  scene.  When,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  am  asleep  with  eyes  closed,  nothing  contradicts  the  ex- 
ternality of  the  vivid  image. 

(2)  Dreams  may  be,  in  the  second  place,  accompanied  by  motor 
reactions  which,  after  waking,  one  is  unaware  of  having  made. 
Many  people  speak  during  their  sleep  —  in  all  probabiHty  while 
they  are  dreaming;  and  sleep-walking  is  no  uncommon  occur- 
rence.    Such  bodily  'automatisms,'  of  which  the  waking  self  is 

*  Cf.  the  writer's  "An  Introduction  to  Psychology,"  p.  398'. 
t  For  discussion,  cf.  "An  Introduction  to  Psychology,"  pp.  400  ff.  (with 
citations). 

J  Cf.  p.  60,  above. 


Ahiiornial  Psychology  383 

unaware  or  forj^ctful,  is  callrd  soninaiiiliulism  when  it  oicurs  in 
sleep. 

(3)  Closely  coiincrlcd  with  the  liallurination  is  the  dissix  iatioii  in- 
volved in  our  dreaming.  By  dissociation  is  meant  the  interruption 
of  ordinary  habitual  associations,  the  abnormal  narrowing  of  our 
experience  through  the  dropping  out  of  images  and  memories 
which  are  normally  present  in  the  waking  life.  Such  a  narrow- 
ing of  the  ordinary  consciousness  has  one  (sometimes  both)  of 
two  results.  Either  the  remaining  consciousness  is  more  intense, 
or  else  other,  more  remote,  imaginings  take  the  place  of  those 
which  have  dropped  out.  The  greater  vividness  oi  fewer 
objects  is  an  explanation  of  the  dream  hallucination;  the  oc- 
currence of  unusual  imagery  characterizes  most  dreams.  On 
its  neural  side,  dissociation  implies  what  may  be  described,  some- 
what figuratively,  as  a  blocking  of  ordinary  'association  paths' 
and  a  consequent  damming  up  of  cortical  energy.  This  results 
on  the  one  hand  in  the  more  intense  functioning  of  the  sense  centres 
still  excited,  and  on  the  other  hand  in  the  spread  of  the  cortical 
energy  through  less  frequently  used  'brain  paths.' 

It  must,  however,  be  noted  that  dreaming  is  not  purely  dis- 
sociative. On  the  contrary,  dreams  are  connected  in  two  ways 
with  the  waking  life:  they  are  due  to  past  waking  experience  and 
they  are.  remembered  after  waking.  As  regards  the  first  point, 
most  dreams  can  be  traced  associatively  to  a  starting-point  in  the 
waking  life;  and  sonv^'  dreams  even  include  s{)ecilic  memories 
of  waking  experience.  Out  of  194  of  my  own  dreams,  carefully 
studied,  I  found  only  22  (11.3  per  cent)  in  which  I  could  trace  no 
suggestion  from  the  waking  experience.  Profes.sor  Sigismund 
Freud  believes  that  the  relati(,)n  of  dream  to  previous  life  is  always 
emotional  —  that  every  dream  is,  in  fact,  a  wish  fulfilled.*     In  my 

*  "  Die  Traunideutung,"  igoo,  igoq.  Dr.  Freud  offers  as  proof  the  care- 
fully analyzed  and  valuable  records  of  many  dreams,  mainly  his  own.  Un- 
questionably he  shows  that  many  dreams  may  reasonably  be  explained  as 
fulfilments  of  wish.  He  does  not,  however,  —  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  he  can- 
not, —  show  that  all  dreams  correspond  to  actual  wishes;  indeed,  he  does  not, 
in  the  opinion  of  many  critics,  successfully  exclude  the  possibility  that  some 
of  his  own  dreams  might  be  otherwise  explained. 


384  Hypnosis 

opinion  this  account  of  the  dream  unduly  limits  the  forms  of  its 
connection  with  the  previous  life.  But  the  fact  of  such  connecdon 
is  undeniable. 

Besides  this  connection  with  the  previous  life,  dreams,  as  already 
stated,  play  a  role  in  later  experience.  We  often  remember  our 
dreams;  and  are  sometimes  puzzled  to  know  whether  we  have 
really  experienced  or  dreamed  some  event.  And  yet,  notwith- 
standing the  connection  of  dream  with  waking  life,  dreams  are 
also  markedly  dissociative,  cut  off  from  the  ordinary  waking 
consciousness.  Thus,  the  dream  self  commonly  adjusts  himself 
without  surprise  to  changed  surroundings;  he  fails  to  imagine 
names  and  scenes  which  in  waking  life  would  certainly  be  sug- 
gested to  him ;  and  he  may  even  forget  his  name  and  circumstances 
and  take  to  himself  a  new  set  of  characters. 

b.   Hypnosis 

By  hypnosis  is  meant  a  state  in  which  one  is  abnormally  in- 
fluenced by  one  person's  suggestions  and  abnormally  unaffected 
by  any  suggestions  of  an  opposite  sort.  Hypnosis  is  induced  in 
various  ways,  as  by  'rhythmic  passes,'  or  by  fixing  the  attention 
of  the  subject  on  a  bright  surface ;  but  all  these  methods  agree  in 
directing  the  attention  of  the  subject  upon  the  hypnotizer  and  in 
diverting  his  attention  from  other  objects.  The  hypnotic  subject 
is  deaf  and  blind  to  all  that  goes  on  about  him,  but  keenly  aUve 
to  every  look,  word,  and  movement  of  the  hypnotizer.*  In  a 
word,  hypnosis  consists  in  abnormal  suggestibility  in  a  single 
direction,  coupled  with  extreme  dissociation  —  the  dropping  out 
of  memories,  images,  and  even  perceptions  which  would  normally 
be  present. 

The  suggestion  of  the  hypnotizer  may  affect  both  the  bodily 
reactions  and  the  consciousness  of  his  subject;  that  is,  he  may 
bring  about  both  automatisms  and  hallucinations.  There  are 
two  main    forms  of    bodily  control.     In    the    lighter  stages  the 

*  Auto-hypnosis,  or  self-hypnotization,  is  not  specifically  discussed  in  this 
section. 


Abnormal  Psyc}ioloi;y  385 

hypnotizer  affects,  positively  or  negatively,  the  voluntary  muscles 
of  his  subject,  preventing  him,  by  a  command,  from  opening  his 
eyes  or  inducing  him  to  hold  his  arm  outward  and  rigid  for  minutes 
at  a  time.  More  complicated  acts  may  also  ije  brought  about : 
for  instance,  the  subject  may  lift  books  from  a  table  or  may 
whirl  several  times  round.  In  deeper  hypnosis  the  involuntary 
muscle  contractions,  and  thus  the  pulse  and  the  secretions,  may 
be  affected.  Structural  bodily  changes  sometimes  occur.  There 
are,  for  example,  well  authenticated  though  infrequent  cases,  in 
which  blisters  have  been  produced  by  a  hypnotizer  who  assured 
his  subject  that  a  burning  object  would  be  applied  to  his  skin. 
We  may  quote,  in  illustration,  from  Krafft  Ebing's  account  of 

his  well-known  patient,  lima  S :  "  The  experimenter  draws 

with  the  percussion  hammer  a  cross  on  the  skin  over  the  biceps  of 
the  left  arm,  and  suggests  to  the  patient  that  on  the  following  day 
at  twelve  o'clock,  in  the  same  place,  a  red  cross  shall  appear.  .  .  . 
On  the  next  day  at  eleven  o'clock  .  .  .  the  patient  wonders  that 
she  has  an  itching,  excoriated  spot  on  her  right  upper  arm.  .  .  . 
The  examination  shows  that  a  red  cross  is  to  be  seen  on  the  right 
arm  exactly  at  the  place  corresponding  with  that  marked  on  the 
left  side  yesterday."  Later  a  'sharply  defined  scab'  is  formed.* 
Hypnosis  is  marked,  fmally,  by  perceptual  illusions  and  hallu- 
cinations. These  may  be  positive  or  negative.  A  positive  illusion 
may,  for  example,  be  induced  if  the  hypnotizer,  pointing  to  cracks 
in  the  wall,  tells  the  subject  that  these  arc  interlacing  tree  tops, 
thus  suggesting  the  vision  of  a  summer  landscape.  Or  the 
hypnotizer  may  hand  to  his  subject  a  cup  of  water,  or  even  of  ink, 
telling  him  that  it  is  coffee.  The  subject  drinks  it  eagerly,  com- 
plains, perhaps,  that  it  is  warm,  and  shows  by  the  expression  of 
his  face  that  he  is  quite  unconscious  of  its  real  nature.  Indeed, 
the  alleged  coffee  may  produce  actual  bodily  effects,  a  flushed 
face,  for  example.  These,  of  course,  are  instances  of  illusion 
brought  about  by  means  of  an  external  object.     Genuine  hallu- 

*  "An  Kx[)rriniciilal  Sludy  in  thi-  Domain  of  Hypnotism,"  l)y  R.  von 
KralTl  Kl)ing,  Iransiatcd  by  C.  CI.  ClKuliiock  (Putnam,  iSSy),  pp.  57-60. 
Cf.  pp.  78,  y6. 


386  Hypnosis 

cinations  can  also  l)c  induced:  a  subject,  for  example,  will  hear 
the  sounds  of  a  piano  if  they  are  merely  suggested  by  the  hypnotist. 
The  negative  illusions  and  hallucinations  of  the  hypnotized  sub- 
feet  are  far  more  diftkult  of  explanation.  The  hypnotizer,  for 
example,  indicates  some  jjerson  who  is  present,  and  says  decidedly, 
"This  man  has  left  the  room;  he  is  no  longer  present."  Forth- 
with the  hypnotized  subject  utterly  disregards  the  banished  in- 
dividual, faiUng  to  reply  to  his  cjuestions,  and  even  running  against 
him.  In  like  manner,  the  hypnotizer  may  suggest  to  his  subject 
that  he  is  unable  to  see  or  to  hear  or  to  feel  pain.  Pain-sensa- 
tions are  not,  however,  very  suspectible  to  suggestion,  and  the 
value  of  hypnotism  as  an  anaesthetic  has  been  very  much  ex- 
aggerated. 

It  has  thus  been  shown  that  hypnosis  is  characterized  by  sug- 
gestibility, automatism,  hallucination,  and  dissociation.  In  its 
extreme  forms  the  dissociation  and  the  new  set  of  imaginings 
which  replace  the  old  seem  to  involve  a  loss  of  the  normal  per- 
sonality and  a  transformation  into  a  new  self.  Thus,  the  deeply 
hypnotized  subject,  if  told  that  he  is  Paderewski,  talks  about  music 
and  devotes  himself  to  the  piano.     Krafft  Ebing's  subject,  lima 

S ,  when  it  \vas  suggested  to  her  that  she  was  eight  years  old, 

played  contentedly  for  hours  at  a  time  with  a  d()ll,  wrote  an  un- 
formed hand,  and  made  childish  errors  in  spelling  words  which 
she  normally  spelled  correctly.  The  new  personality  may  persist 
for  a  long  period  and  recur  regularly.  One  of  the  best-known 
cases  is  that  of  Janet's  patient,  Leonie,*  who  "  has  been  hypnotized 
by  all  sorts  of  persons  from  the  age  of  sixteen  upwards.  Whilst 
her  normal  Hfe  developed  in  one  way  in  the  midst  of  her  poor 
country  surroundings,  her  second  life  was  passed  in  drawing- 
rooms  and  doctors'  offices,  and  naturally  took  an  entirely  dififerent 
direction.  In  her  normal  state,  this  poor  peasant  woman  is  a 
serious  and  rather  sad  person,  calm  and  slow,  very  mild  with  every 
one,  and  extremely  timid;  to  look  at  her  one  would  never  suspect 
the  personage  which  she  contains.     But  hardly  is  she  put  to  sleep 

*  Pierre  Janet,  "  L'automatisme  psychologique,"  1889,  pp.  132  ff. 


Ab  nor  null  Psychology  387 

liy[)iK)tically,  when  a  metamorphosis  ociurs.  She  is  gay,  noisy, 
restless,  sometimes  insuj)jK)rtably  so.  She  remains  good-natured, 
hut  has  ac((uired  a  singuhir  tendency  to  irony  and  sliarj)  jesting. 
To  this  charai  ter  must  be  added  the  possession  of  an  enormous 
number  of  recollections,  whose  existence  she  does  not  even  suspect 
when  awake,  for  her  amnesia  is  then  complete.  .  .  .  She  refuses 
the  name  of  Leonie,  and  takes  that  of  Leontine  (Leonie  2)  to 
which  her  first  magnetizers  had  accustomed  her.  'That  good 
woman  is  not  myself,'  she  says,  'she  is  too  stupid!'  To  herself, 
Leontine  or  Leonie  2,  she  attributes  all  the  sensations  and  all  the 
actions;  in  a  word,  all  the  conscious  experiences  which  she  has 
undergt)ne  in  somnambulism,  and  knits  them  together  to  make 
the  history  of  her  already  long  life.  To  Leonie  i  [as  M.  Janet  calls 
the  waking  woman],  on  the  other  hand,  she  exclusively  ascri!)es  the 
events  lived  through  in  waking  hours.  But  it  is  the  same  with  her 
second  or  deepest  state  of  trance.  When  after  the  renewed  passes, 
syncope,  etc.,  she  reaches  the  condition  called  Leonie  3,  she  is 
another  person  still.  Serious  and  grave,  instead  of  being  a  rest- 
less child,  she  speaks  slowly  and  moves  but  little.  Again  she 
separates  herself  from  the  waking  Leonie  i.  'A  good  but  rather 
stupid  woman,'  she  says,  'and  not  me.'  And  she  also  separates 
herself  from  Leonie  2 :  '  How  can  you  see  anything  of  me  in  that 
crazy  creature?'  she  says.  'Fortunately,  I  am  nothing  for  her.'  " 
The  dissociation  of  hypnosis  from  the  waking  hfe  is  evidently 
not  complete.  The  hypnotized  subject  remembers  not  only  the 
events  of  former  hypnosis  but  facts  of  his  waking  life.  On  the 
other  hand,  unlike  the  dreamer,  he  seldom  remembers,  after  wak- 
ing, the  experiences  of  the  trance.  Yet  hypnosis,  in  its  deeper 
stages,  has  a  curious  influence  on  the  later  waking  life,  known  as 
post-hypnotic  suggestion.  The  hypnotist,  for  example,  before 
waking  his  subject,  addresses  him  in  some  such  fashion  as  the 
following:  "To-morrow,  at  twelve  o'cK)ck,  you  will  stop  the  clock 
on  the  stairs."  At  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following  day,  the  sub- 
ject, apparently  in  his  normal  condition,  actually  stops  the  clock,  to 
all  appearance  on  his  own  initiative,  witiiout  remembering  the 
suggestion  of  the  hypnotist. 


3^8  Abnormal  Wakiiii^  Experiences 

It  is  obvious  that  the  main  value,  as  well  as  the  chief  danger, 
of  hypnotism  lies  in  just  this  susceptibility  of  the  hypnotic  subject 
to  post-hypnotic  suggestion.  Physicians  and  'mental  healers' 
who  make  use  of  hypnotism  suggest  to  the  patient  that  he  is  freed 
from  disturbing  symptoms,  and  that  he  will  remain  freed  from 
them  after  waking.  Not  merely  nervous  diseases,  so  called,  but 
all  diseases  and  .symptoms  which  have  no  anatomical  cause  have 
been  successfully  treated  by  hypnotism. 

In  unscrupulous  hands  the  ability  to  give  post-hypnotic  sug- 
gestions may,  of  course,  be  grossly  abused.  There  are  reasonably 
well-attested  instances  of  crimes  committed  and  of  large  sums  of 
money  given  away,  in  accordance  with  post-hypnotic  suggestion. 
In  such  cases  the  discovery  of  the  guilty  hypnotist  is  made  difficult 
by  the  fact,  already  indicated,  that  the  hy{)notized  subject  so  seldom 
remembers  the  events  of  the  hypnotic  state.  The  best  authorities, 
however,  agree  in  the  conclusion  that  only  individuals  predisposed 
to  criminal  acts  can  be  influenced  to  actual  crime. 

It  should  be  stated  very  emphatically  that  no  person  can  be 
hypnotized  against  his  will.  Hypnosis  is  induced  only  when  the 
attention  is  concentrated  on  the  hypnotizer.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  habit  of  yielding  attention,  like  all  other  habits,  is  readily 
formed.  It  follows  that  a  person  several  times  hypnotized  be- 
comes very  readily  susceptible.  Evidently  there  is  grave  danger  in 
a  tendency  to  yield  oneself  to  the  exclusive  control  of  others.  For 
these  reasons  the  hypnotic  state  should  be  induced  only  for  serious 
purposes  —  to  cure  disease  or  to  extend  knowledge ;  and  only 
j)ersons  possessed  at  once  of  medical  and  of  psychological  training 
should  give  hypnotic  suggestions. 

c.    Abnormal  Experiences  in  the  Waking  Life 

(i)  There  are  countless  authentic  illustrations  of  waking  halluci- 
nations and  illusions.  The  voices  which  called  to  Joan  of  Arc, 
the  devil  who  used  to  argue  with  Luther,  and  the  daimon  of  Sokrates 
are  illustrations  which  at  once  suggest  themselves.  It  is  not  always 
easy  to  decide,  from   the  descriptions  which   we  have  of  them, 


Abnormal  Psychology  389 

wlicthcr  tlicsc  visions  arc  illusions,  that  is,  conditioned  in  |)art  l)y 
|)C"ri|jiicral  t-xcitation,  or  whctluT  t!iey  arc  hallucinations,  that  is, 
conditioned  by  cerebral  excitation  only.  Sometimes,  however, 
the  distinction  is  obvious.  For  example,  the  phantoms  which 
haunted  Charles  IX.  after  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  were 
hallucinations,  but  the  image  of  Byron  which  appeared  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  a  mere  illusion,  for  the  clothes  of  the  figure  con- 
sisted. Sir  Walter  discovered,  of  the  folds  of  a  curtain. 

Far  more  important  as  materials  for  study  than  these  vivid, 
yet  often  confused  and  unverified,  stories  from  which  we  have 
(juoted,  are  the  massed  results  of  an  International  Census  on  Wakinf^ 
Hallucinations,  made  by  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research.* 
The  question  on  which  this  study  is  based  is  the  following :  ''  Have 
you  ever,  when  believing  yourself  to  be  completely  awake,  had  a 
vivid  impression  of  seeing  or  being  touched  by  a  living  being  or  in- 
animate object,  or  of  hearing  a  voice,  which  impression,  so  far  as 
you  could  discover,  was  not  due  to  any  external  physical  cause?  " 
To  this  question,  27,329  answers  were  given,  and  of  these,  3271, 
or  1 1 .96  per  cent,  were  affirmative ;  in  other  words,  one  out  of  every 
twelve  of  the  persons  reached  by  the  investigation  asserted  that 
he  had  experienced  hallucinations.  This  percentage,  however, 
is,  in  all  probability,  too  high  to  be  representative,  for  the  larger 
the  number  of  answers  received  by  any  one  collector  of  these 
statistics,  the  smaller  was  the  number  of  affirmative  replies.  It 
follows  that  if  the  investigation  were  further  extended,  the  percent- 
age would  probably  fall  still  lower.f  Yet,  with  all  allowances  for 
overestimation,  the  fact  remains  that  waking  hallucinations  must 
be  commoner  than  many  of  us  think.  Visual  hallucinations  far 
outnumber  the  others:  of  2232  cases  completely  described,  144 1 
included  visual  elements,  850  were  partly  auditory,  and  only  244 
were  tactile.  Most  of  the.sc  hallucinations  related  to  people,  living 
or  dead,  but  a  few  represented  angels  or  supernatural  beings,  and 
a  slightly  larger  number  were  grotesque  or  horrible  figures.     About 

*  Procecdinqx  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  Vol.  X.,  18^4. 
t  I'Mniund    Parish,    "Hallucinations    ami     Illusions"    (Scribncr,    1897), 
I'l-.  S5  ff- 


390  Hallucinations 

onc-twcnlic'lli  of  them  were  indefinite  or  indesrrihahlc.  Persons 
between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and  thirty  reported  more  than  one-half 
the  number  of  these  illusions  and  hallucinations,  and  men  reported 
only  two-tliirds  as  many  as  women,  9.75  per  cent  as  compared  with 
14.56  per  cent.  The  general  conclusion  of  the  Report  is  "  that  this 
apparent  difference  should,  to  a  great  extent,  be  attributed  to  the 
fact  that  men,  among  the  pressing  interests  and  occupations  of  their 
lives,  forget  these  experiences  sooner."* 

Besides  the  involuntary  hallucinations  and  illusions,  there  is 
the  whole  class  of  illusions  which  are  voluntarily  induced.  These 
may  be  regarded  as  cases  of  self-hypnotization.  The  commonest 
method  of  bringing  about  illusions  is  known  as  crystal  vision :  the 
experimenter  looks  fixedly  at  a  glass  sphere,  at  a  mirror  surface,  or 
even  at  a  glass  of  water,  until  there  appear  pictures  in  its  reflecting 
surface.  The  images  which  appear  within  these  different  crystals 
are  usually  reproductions  of  former  experiences,  and  often  of  long- 
forgotten  objects  or  scenes.  One  sees,  for  instance,  a  forgotten 
name  or  a  room  familiar  in  early  childhood.  The  images,  on  the 
other  hand,  may  be  purely  imaginary,  as  when  Mrs.  Verrall  sees  in 
her  crystal  t  colors  so  vivid  that  they  leave  an  after-image  in  com- 
plementar}'  colors.  The  images  seen  in  crystals  may  be,  finally, 
veridical  images  of  actual  scenes  beyond  the  range  of  the  normal 
vision  of  the  crystal  seer,  f 

The  phenomena  of  syna^thesia,  of  which  the  most  important  are 
so-called  'colored  hearing'  and  'mental  forms,'  are  sometimes  re- 
garded as  waking  illusions.  Colored  hearing  consists  in  the  regu- 
lar sequence  of  a  consciousness  of  some  particular  color  upon  the 
consciousness  of  a  letter,  a  name,  or  a  musical  tone.  A  mental 
form  is  a  regularly  recurring  imaged  arrangement  of  serial  terms  — 
numerals,  for  example,  or  names  of  the  months  of  the  year  —  in 
some  special  form,  perhaps  in  a  circle  or  in  a  zigzag  line.  But 
these  are,  in  great  part  at  least,  cases  of  vividly  associated  images, 
not  illusions. 

*  Cf.  Parish,  op.  cit.,  p.  84. 

t  Proceedings  of  the  Soc.  for  Psy.  Res.,  VIII.,  pp.  473  ff. 

J  Cf.  p.  395,  below. 


Abnormal  Psychology  391 

(2)  Not  only  hy|)n()tic  and  hysteric  sul)jais,  hut  many  well 
and  apparently  normal  [)eoj)le,  exhibit  the  phenomena  of  aulo- 
matism,  that  is,  relatively  complex  bodily  movement  executed 
without  the  knowledge,  or  at  least  without  the  after-memory,  of 
the  normal  waking  self.  The  best-known  form  of  automatism 
is  automatic  writing,  and  is  of  the  following  nature:'''  the  subject 
provided  witli  a  pencil,  and  so  placed  that  the  hand  which 
holds  the  })encil  is  hidden  from  his  eyes,  unconsciously  responds 
to  stimulation  of  the  hand.  If  the  hand  be  pressed  three  times, 
it  will  make  three  marks  when  these  pressures  are  over;  if  the 
hand  is  guided  and  made  to  draw  a  single  letter,  it  may  go  on 
to  complete  a  word.  Normal  persons  possess  the  rudiments  of 
automatic  writing,  passively  repeating  uniform  movements  when 
the  experimenter  has  initiated  them,  following  the  rhythm  of  a 
metronome,  or  even  outlining  imagined  figures,  and  writing  im- 
agined names.  The  significant  feature  of  this  experience  is 
the  subject's  entire  unconsciousness  of  the  movements  of  his 
own  hands. 

(3)  In  the  waking  life,  as  in  dreaming  and  in  hyjinosis,  dissocia- 
tion, that  is,  the  loss  of  the  old  memories  of  the  normal  life, 
sometimes  seems  to  involve  a  so-called  loss  of  personality ;  and  the 
new  complexes  of  imagination  which  replace  the  old  seem  to 
make  up  a  new  personality  or  self.  Often  the  two  personalities 
alternate;  sometimes  the  new  one  supplants  the  old.  An  early 
instance  is  that  of  Ansel  Bourne,  a  Rhode  Island  carpenter  who 
disappeared  in  January,  1SS7,  just  after  drawing  live  hundred 
dollars  from  a  bank.  In  March  of  the  same  year  a  man  who 
called  himself  Brown,  and  who,  for  six  weeks,  had  been  intelligently 
carrying  on  a  small  fruit  and  candy  store  in  Norristown,  Pennsyl- 
vania, waked  as  .\nsel  Bourne,  in  frightened  ignorance  of  his 
surroundings.! 

A  more  recent  and  more  conlplicated  case  is  that  of  Dr.  Prince's 
neurasthenic  |)atient,  Miss  Bcaut  hamp,  who  comes  to  herself  after 
longer  or  shorter  periods  of  forgetfulness  to  lind  that  she  has  done 

*  Cf.  .\.  Bind,  "  Double  Consciousness,"  pp.  80  IT. 

t  \\'.  Janu's,  "TIh-  Prinripli--^  of  T'sv,  ht^lo.'v,"  I.,  p.    ;.)?. 


392  Loss  of  Personality 

suqirising  things  —  broken  a])p()intments  or  walked  unheard-of 
distances,  that  she  is  in  strange  situations,  wound  round  and 
round  and  tangled  in  yards  of  worsted,  for  example.  Sometimes 
she  finds  before  her  a  note  written  to  herself  in  her  own  handwriting, 
and  on  her  own  notepaper,  puq^orting  to  come  from  another  self 
which  has  taken  the  walks,  broken  the  apjjointments,  involved  her 
in  difficulties.* 

II.    THE   EXPLANATION 

The  most  common  exj)lanation,  nowadays  advanced,  for  abnor- 
mal phenomena  of  consciousness,  is  the  hypothesis,  already  sug- 
gested, of  secondary  selves,  or  personalities.  Such  a  secondary 
self  is  variously  known  as  sub-conscious  or  co-conscious,  as  sub- 
liminal or  supra-liminal.  It  is  conceived  as  a  self  other  than  the 
ordinary  waking  self,  yet  in  some  way  connected  with  it.  There 
may  be  several  of  these  alternating  secondary  selves.  Dr.  Prince, 
for  example,  believes  that  the  facts  of  Miss  Beauchamp's  case  can  be 
explained  only  by  the  hypothesis  of  six  distinct  personalities,  one  of 
whom  —  the  mischievous  Sally  who  writes  the  notes  and  tangles  her 
alter  ego  in  the  yarn  —  is  entirely  antagonistic  to  the  main  self.  This 
hypothesis  is  believed  to  be  necessary  to  account  for  the  extreme 
forms  of  dissociation  just  illustrated;  and  the  theory  is  then  often 
extended  to  apply  to  other  abnormal  phenomena.  Thus,  on  such 
a  theory,  the  dreaming  self,  or  the  hypnotized  self,  or  the  self  who 
sees  figures  in  the  crystal,  is  the  sub-conscious  or  co-conscious  self. 

There  is  no  time  to  discuss  in  detail  the  complicated  issues  in- 
volved in  such  a  theory.  The  following  comments  are,  therefore, 
dogmatically  stated,  though  they  run  counter  to  the  view  of  many 
psychologists:  The  majority  of  so-called  abnormal  phenomena  are 
perfectly  well  explained  without  recourse  to  a  secondary  self  hy- 
pothesis. It  has  appeared  already  that  dream  illusions  are  the 
natural  result  of  the  dissociation  natural  in  sleep.  It  is  likewise 
obvious  that  abnormal  automatisms  are  extreme  instances  of  the 
natural  outcome  of  consciousness  in  action,  and  of  the  anatomical 
unity  of  afferent  and  efferent  processes.      Hypnosis,   also,  strik- 

■■!=  Cf.  "The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality,"  by  Alorton  Prince,  1905. 


Abnormal  Psychology  393 

ingly  as  it  dilTcrs  from  the  waking  state  is,  after  all,  essentially  an 
exaggerated  form  of  the  suggestibility  which  makes  everybody,  at 
least  on  occasions,  imitate  slavishly  some  dominating  self.  Up- 
holders of  the  subliminal  self  theory  often  admit  the  theoretical 
possibility  of  explaining  many  phenomena  of  dreams,  hypnosis,  and 
automatism,  by  analogy  with  the  normal  waking  consciousness. 
They  argue,  however,  that  other  facts,  in  particular,  many  j)he- 
nomcna  of  dissociation,  require  a  secondary  self  hyjiothesis;  and 
that  continuity  requires  the  explanation  of  all  al)normal  phenomena 
by  the  hypothesis  essential  to  the  explanation  of  this  one  group  of 
them.  This  application  of  the  principle  of  continuity  is  not  be- 
yond cavil ;  but  it  is  more  important  to  question  the  premise  of  the 
argument.  The  writer  of  this  book  believes,  with  many  psycholo- 
gists, that  the  phenomena  of  dissociation,  even  the  most  {)ronounced 
of  them,  have  not  been  shown  to  differ,  ultimately,  from  the  tluctua- 
tions  of  mood  and  the  alternations  of  memory  of  so-called  normal 
experience.  I  am  elated  to-day,  to-morrow  depressed ;  I  am  living 
to-day  with  the  memories  of  my  summer  in  the  woods ;  to-morrow 
I  have  forgotten  the  very  name  of  my  forest  retreat  and  am  im- 
mersed in  my  workshop  and  its  associations.  The  complete 
change  of  mood,  the  more  absolute  loss  of  niemor)-,  are  but  extreme 
forms  of  this  normal  dissociation. 

To  state  this  differently:  what  I  call  my  normal  experience 
is  a  complex  web  woven  of  many  strands  of  memory,  that  is,  of 
scries  of  connected  images,  each  series  distinct  from  the  others; 
it  is  a  composite  of  many  distinct  grou|)s  of  interest  and  pre- 
occupation. I  may  regard  these  memory  series  and  these  vary- 
ing circles  of  interest  as  aspects  of  myself,  or  as  partial  selves, 
distinguishing,  for  instance,  my  professional  from  my  personal 
self,  my  business  from  my  family  self  or,  perhai)s,  my  frivolous 
from  my  strenuous  self.  So-called  dissociation  of  self  involves 
(lie  i)eculiar  ])rominence  of  some  one  of  these  lesser  selves,  or  as- 
pects of  myself,  coupled  with  unusual  forgetfulness  of  all  that 
lies  outside  this  circle  of  interest  and  memor\'.  But  whether  or 
not  the 'secondary  selves'  of  the  abnormal  consciousness  differ  in 
kind  or  in   degree    from  the    partial    selves,   with    their  (li>tiiKt 


394  ^^^^  Secondary  Self 

memories  and  feelings,  of  tlie  normal  life,  three  statements  must 
be  made  about  them :  — 

In  the  first  place,  the  term  'subconscious'  must  not  be  taken 
as  referring  to  a  mysterious  something  neither  conscious  nor  uncon- 
scious. There  is  no  such  middle  term  between  the  two:  what  is 
not  conscious  is  unconscious.  By  ' subconscious'  should  be  meant, 
therefore,  either  the  unconscious  physiological  process  or  the  inat- 
tentive consciousness.  In  both  senses  of  the  term,  '  the  subcon- 
scious, '  so  far  from  being  occult  or  mysterious,  plays  an  important 
part  in  the  normal  experience.*  On  the  one  hand,  all  sorts  of 
muscular  reactions  are  performed  subconsciously,  that  is,  through 
unconscious  reflexes,  and  one  finds  to  one's  surprise  that  one  has 
already  wound  one's  watch,  or  one  goes  to  the  front  door  only  to 
find  that  one  has  already  locked  it.  And,  similarly  each  one  of  us 
is  at  every  instant  'subconsciously,'  or  inattentively,  aware  of  a 
multitude  of  facts  in  the  environment  —  of  the  visual  objects  which 
do  not  excite  the  visual  centre,  of  faint  sounds  or  odors.  The  out- 
come of  the  inattentive  perception  is,  not  infrequently,  an  appar- 
ently sudden  and  unaccounted  for  image  of  name  or  date  or  event 
which  one  does  not  remember  that  one  has  ever  ^vitnessed  or 
heard.* 

It  must  be  insisted,  second,  that  the  dissociations  of  personality 
never  involve,  what  they  are  sometimes  said  to  imply,  a  loss  of 
personality.  This  will  be  admitted  by  those  of  us  who  sometimes 
experience  a  doubling  of  the  dream-personality.  I  dream,  for 
example,  of  watching  at  my  own  sick-bed,  and  always  I  am  identi- 
fied ^vith  one,  if  not  both,  these  selves.  And  no  matter  what  the 
hypnotic  self  forgets,  the  I-which-forgets  remains. 

It  should  be  noted,  in  conclusion,  that  the  secondary  self  —  in 
the  extreme  cases  of  changed  personality  —  might  be  conceived 
not  as  an  alternating  or  partial  self,  but  as  a  self  totally  distinct  from 
the  normal  self,  though  connected  ^\^th  the  same  body.  This  is 
an  older  view,  yet  it  has  modern  support. f 

*  Cf.  Joseph  Jastrow,  "The  Subconscious,"  especially  Part  I.,  VII.-IX. 
t  Cf.  W.  McDougali,  Proceedings  of  tlic  Society  for  Psychical  Research, 
XIX.,  pp.  410  ff. 


Abnormal  Psychology  395 

III.     \KRlinCAL    I'lIEXOMENA 

Reference  must  be  made,  in  conclusion,  to  so-called  veridical 
phenomena  —  experiences  of  people,  events,  or  things,  which  are 
beyond  the  limit  of  the  normal  observation  or  communication. 
Prophetic  dreams,  clairvoyant  visions,  mcdiumistic  revelations,  are 
the  phenomena  most  commonly  grouped  under  this  head.  It 
should  be  noticed,  first  of  all,  that  peoj)le  arc  very  readily  mistaken 
in  attributing  a  veridical  character  to  their  experiences.  Nothing 
is  more  common  than  the  false  impression,  after  an  important 
event,  that  one  has  [previously  experienced  it.  Just  as  places  seem 
familiar  to  us,  when  we  have  never  seen  them  before,  so  we  meet 
events,  especially  ovenvhelming  ones,  with  a  curious  sense  of  hav- 
ing always  known  or  expected  them.  More  than  this,  veridical 
experiences  may  be  due  to  information  normally  acquired,  but  for- 
gotten. For  example,  Mrs.  Holland's  automatic  reproduction  of 
Mr.  Myers's  epitaph  may  be  due  not  to  the  fact  that  the  si)irit  of 
Mr.  Myers  is  speaking  through  her,  but  to  the  fact  that,  though 
she  has  no  memory  of  the  epitaph,  she  has  read  parts  of  his  auto- 
biography.* It  is,  however,  believed  by  careful  students  that  many 
veridical  phenomena  are  incapable  of  explanation,  either  through 
coincidence  or  through  forgotten  normal  ex|)eriences,  and  that  they 
presuppose  an  intluence  of  self  by  self  through  other  than  the 
usual  means  of  language  and  bodily  e.xpression.  Such  supra- 
normal  communication  between  living  persons  is  named  telepathy, 
or  thought-transference;  and  it  is  held  by  some  that  it  may  have  a 
physical  basis  —  ethereal  vil^rations  of  extreme  minuteness  due  to 
changes  in  one  brain  and  resulting  in  changes  in  another. f  .Alleged 
instances  of  tclcj)athy  are  either  spontaneous  or  ex])erimentally 
induced.  Under  the  first  head  may  be  reckoned,  in  the  first  place, 
the  ordinary  cases   in  wliich    p(.'<)|)lc  who  know  each  other  well 

*  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  \'ol.  XXI,  Tart  LV., 
1908,  pp.  2f)8  IT. 

t  Cf.  Podmorc,  "The  Naturalization  of  the  Supt-rnatural,"  pp.  lo  ff., 
and  note  his  remark:  "No  such  coiincitioii  between  thinking  brains  has  been 
proved,"  and  his  statement  (p.  12)  of  the  main  objection  to  the  hypothesis: 
the  difficulty  of  conceiving  such  vibrations  to  be  effective  at  a  distance. 


396  Veridical  Phenomena 

make  the  same  remark  at  the  same  instant,  or  respond,  as  we  say,  to 
unspoken  questions.  More  impressive  are  the  cases  in  which  figures 
of  absent  people  appear  in  dress  and  surroundings  corresponding, 
as  afterward  discovered,  with  their  position  and  surroundings  at 
the  time  of  the 'vision'  or  'message.'  Thus,  Ca[)tain  Beau- 
mont, in  London,  rises  to  greet  his  wife,  who  is  wearing  a  *  mauve 
dress,'  which  he  has  never  seen,  at  a  moment  when  she,  in  Tenby, 
is  speaking  to  friends  of  his  absence.*  Far  more  important, 
evidently,  than  the  accounts  of  these  'spontaneous'  cases  are  the 
records  of  experiments  in  thought-transference.  The  most  impor- 
tant of  these  were  carried  out,  in  1889-1891,  under  the  direction  of 
Professor  and  Mrs.  Sidgwick  and  of  Miss  Johnson.  In  90  out  of 
617  cases  one  numeral,  out  of  81  possible,  was  intently  fixated  by 
the  experimenter  and  correctly  stated  by  the  subject  of  the  experi- 
ment, who  was  so  placed  that  he  could  not  see  the  numerals.  By 
chance  alone,  only  8  correct  statements  would,  presumably,  have 
been  made.  The  number  of  correct  statements  is  reduced  when 
subject  and  experimenter  are  in  different  rooms,  yet  is  still  too 
large  to  be  attributed  merely  to  chance.  There  are  also  a  few 
cases  in  which  one  person,  at  an  hour  previously  set,  draws  dia- 
grams or  fixates  an  object  which  (in  one  instance  four  times  out  of 
ten)  is  reproduced  or  distinctly  imagined  by  a  person  far  distant. f 
Similar  communications,  many  people  hold,  are  made  to  living 
persons  by  those  who  have  died.  The  evidences  brought  forward 
for  this  conclusion  are  mainly  (i)  the  occurrence  of  clairvoyant 
visions  concerned  with  death ;  and  (2)  alleged  communications, 
through  mediums,  from  the  dead.  One  may  quote,  in  illustration 
of  the  first  sort  of  evidence,  the  authenticated  story  {  of  Captain 
Colt,  an  officer  of  the  British  army,  who  had  a  vision  on  the  eighth 
of  September,  1855,  of  the  kneeling  image  of  his  brother,  a  soldier 
who  was  then  before  Sebastopol.     The  figure  had  a  wound  on  the 

*  "Phantasms  of  the  Living,"  II.,  p.  91 ;  also  quoted  by  Myers,  "Human 
Personality,"  I.,  p.  649. 

f  Journal  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  1896,  pp.  325  ff. ;  also  noted 
l)y  Podmorc,  op.  cit.,  pp.  3;^  ff. 

J  "Phantasms  of  the  Living,"  \'ol.  I.,  p.  556. 


Abnormal  Psychology  397 

right  temple.  Captain  ('(tit  dcscrihed  the  vision  to  the  inemhers  of 
his  household,  and  both  his  accounts  of  it  and  his  statement  of 
the  date  are  substantially  corroborated  by  his  sister.  A  fortnight 
later  he  had  news  of  his  brother's  death  on  the  eighth  of  September. 
His  brother's  body  had  been  found  ''in  a  sort  of  kneeling  posture 
.  .  .  prop[)cd  up  by  other  bodies,  and  the  death  wound  was  where 
it  had  appeared  in  the  vision."  It  is  clear,  however,  that  such 
cases  do  not  necessarily  involve  communication  with  the  dead, 
since  one  may  suppose  a  telepathic  message  from  living  witnesses. 
The  evidence  from  alleged  mediumistic  revelations  presents  greater 
complexity.  On  the  one  hand,  it  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the 
great  bulk  of  the  abnormal  physical  phenomena  popularly  attributed 
to  spirit  inlluence  —  the  table-tipping,  phosphorescent  lights,  fra- 
grances, and  sounds  —  are  due  either  to  automatic  movements  un- 
consciously performed  by  the  mediums,  or  to  their  fraudulently 
concealed  bodily  movements,  sleight-of-hand  performances  and 
mechanical  devices.  Records  of  the  exposures  of  alleged  mediums 
furnish  accumulating  and  incontestable  evidence  of  these  state- 
ments. On  the  other  hand,  several  investigators,  foremost  in  the 
exposure  of  these  spiritualistic  frauds,  hold  that  there  are  instances 
of  revelations  through  mediums  which  may  be  explained  only  as  the 
direct  communion  of  the  dead  with  the  living.  Such  is  the  com- 
munication said  to  be  made  through  the  medium,  Mrs.  Piper,  to 
Sir  Oliver  Lodge  by  an  uncle  long  dead,  who  related  occurrences 
known  only  to  one  living  person  who  was  miles  away  and  unaware 
of  the  'seance'  with  Mrs.  Piper.*  More  important  is  the  evidence 
furnished  in  very  recent  years  by  the  phenomena  of  cross-corre- 
spondence in  which  one  automatist  is  impelled  to  write  statements 
unintelligible  to  her,  which  arc  later  understood  through  statements, 
by  themselves  equally  unintelligible,  written  by  another  automatist. 
So,  certain  Latin  passages  written  automatically  by  Mrs.  Verrall 
on  March  2,  4,  and  5,  1906,  were  a  riddle  to  her  until  the  words 
"Ave  Roma  immortalis,"  written  at  a  distance,  on  March  7,  by 

*  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  VI.,  pp.  458  IT.  Cf. 
also  the  records  of  Mrs.  Piper's  sittings  with  the  friends  of  G.  P.,  ibid.,  XIII. 
See  Podniore,  op.  cit.,  pp.  319  IT. 


398  Veridical  Phenomena 

Mrs.  Holland,  clearly  rrlVrred  the  descrij)tions  to  Rome  and  to  a 
picture  !)y  Ra])hael.  The  picture  was  well  known  to  Mr.  Myers, 
who  —  in  the  belief  of  Mrs.  Verrall,  Mrs.  Holland,  and  others  — 
is  controlling  their  automatic  writings. 

Tliree  scientific  attitudes  toward  this  evidence  are  possible. 
A  grou|)  of  trained  investigators,  including  the  late  Professor 
Sidgwick,  the  late  Mr.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  Mrs.  Sidgwick,  and 
many  others,  believe  that  there  is  at  least  preponderant  evidence 
of  "direct  supersensuous  communication  of  mind  with  mind,"* 
and  that  this  communion  is  not  only  between  the  living,  but  of 
dead  with  living.  It  should  be  added  that  even  those  who  accept, 
more  or  less  definitely,  this  conclusion  do  not  assume  to  understand 
the  nature  and,  above  all,  the  strange  limitation  of  the  communica- 
tion; that  they  do  not  claim  to  offer  a  positive  estimate  of  the 
value  of  the  messages  or  to  interpret  their  meaning.  At  most 
they  hold  that  the  fact  of  the  communication  is  established.  (2) 
Another  group  of  psychologists  includes  some  who  admit  that  the 
"theory  which  assigns"  the  phenomena  oi  cross-correspondence 
"  to  a  controlling  intelligence  external  to  either  of  the  two  autom- 
atists  must  rank,  prima  facie,  as  a  good  scientific  hypothesis."  f 
Yet  these  students  hold  that  the  "evidence  .  .  .  strong  as  it 
is,  is  inconclusive."  J  Among  these  men  who  value  the  evidence 
on  which  the  spiritistic  hypothesis  is  based,  while  yet  they  reject 
spiritism,  are  those  who  accept  the  hypothesis  of  telepathy,  supra- 
normal  communion  among  the  living.  Mr.  Frank  Podmore  is 
prominent  in  this  group.  (3)  To  a  third  group  of  psychologists, 
when  "the  question  is  .  .  .  whether  departed  spirits  enter  into 
communication  with  living  men  by  mediums  .  .  .  the  scien- 
tist does  not  admit  a  compromise;  ...  he  flatly  denies  the 
possibility  .  .  .  the  facts  as  they  are  claimed  do  not  exist  and 
never  will  exist."  §  Even  so-called  telepathic  communications 
between  the  lixing  are,  for  these  critics,  explicable  through  un- 

*  Myers,  "Human  Personality." 

t  H.  N.  Gardiner,  "The  Automatic  Writing  of  Mrs.  Holland." 

X  Ibid. 

§  H.  Miinsterberg,  "Psychology  and  Life,"  pp.  252-253. 


Ab)ioniuil  J'^ycJiology  399 

intended  suggestions  —  for  example,  through  'involuntary  whisper- 
ing,'* or  else  the  alleged  communications  only  aciidentally  or 
superficially  resemhle  the  originals. 

In  the  face  of  this  divergence  t)f  o])inion,  the  duty  of  the  lay- 
man is  fairly  clear.  He  will  l)e  theoretii:ally  open-mindetl,  neither 
accrediting  nor  rejecting,  uncritically,  evidence  brought  forward 
on  either  side.  But  remembering  the  proved  frauds  in  medi- 
umistic  revelations,  and  the  disagreements  among  experts,  and 
noting  the  admitted  ignorance  concerning  the  nature  and  value 
of  alleged  veridical  phenomena,  he  will  never  direct  his  own  con- 
duct by  consulting  mediums,  inter[)reting  dreams,  gazing  into 
crystals,  or  playing  with  planchettes  and  ouija-boards. 

For  Bibliography  on  abnormal  psychology,  cf.  the  citations  of  the 
footnotes,  and  add:  On  dreams,  M.  W.  Calkins,  Statistics  of  Dreams, 
American  Journal  of  Psychology,  1893,  V.,  pp.  311  ff. ;  Sante  de  Sanctis, 
I  Sogni,  1899.  On  telepathy,  Frank  Podmore,  .\pparitions  and  Thought- 
transference,  1897.  Also  Joseph  Jastrow,  Fact  and  Falile  in  Psychol- 
ogy, 1901;  F.  W.  Myers,  The  Subliminal  Self,  Proceedings  of  the 
Society  for  Psychical  Research,  \'II.,  \'II1.,  IX.;  li.  Munsterberg, 
Pyschotherapy,  1909. 

*  Cf.  Hannsen  and  Lchmann,  Philos.  Stndieu,  XT.,  pp.  471  ff.,  reviewed 
hy  W.  James,  Psychol.  Re^'icu;  III.,  p.  q8;  answered  by  H.  Sidgwick, 
Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  XII.,  p.  298. 


SECTION  XVII. 

Review  Questions* 

Chapter  II.  i.  What  character  of  perception  is  illustrated  by 
the  following  statement:  "I  must  have  heard  the  bell  ring  instead 
of  imagining  it  merely ;  for  Robert  and  Isabel  heard  it  at  tlie  same 
time." 

2.  Explain  the  statement:  "In  one  sense  all  productive  im- 
agination is  really  reproductive."     (IF.) 

3.  What  type  of  imagination  is  developed  in  the  historical 
novel?  in  romantic  fiction?     (IF.) 

4.  Give  an  example  of  (a)  Creative  scientific  imagination; 
(b)  Creative  artistic  imagination;  (r)  Creative  'practical'  imagi- 
nation. 

5.  What  sort  of  imagination  was  lacking  in  the  man  who  be- 
wailed '  the  cup  of  Ireland 's  misery,  long  running  over  but  not 
yet  full '  ? 

6.  Give  an  example  from  literature  (poetry  or  prose),  of 
imagination  which  is:  (a)  visual;  (b)  auditoi-y;  (r)  cutaneous; 
{d)  tactual-motor;     (e)    olfactory;     (/)   gustatory. 

7.  What  is  proved  about  Tennyson's  ability  to  imagine  tastes 
by  the  fact  that  he  describes : 

" .  .  .a  pasty  costly  made 
Where  quail  and  pigeon,  lark  and  leveret  lay 
Like  fossils  of  the  rock  with  golden  yolks 
Imbedded  and  injcllied." 

III.     8.    Read  carefully  the  following  passage:  — 
Next  .  .  .  Mowgli  .  .  .  was  feeling  hands  on  his  legs  and  arms,  — 
strong  little  hands,  which  pinched   his  flesh  —  and  then  a  swash  of 

*  The  Roman  numerals  refer  to  the  chapters  of  the  book.  Questions 
adapted  or  quoted  from  Thorndike's  "Elements  of  Psychology,"  Titchener's 
"Primer  of  Psychology"  and  Whipple's  "  Questions  in  Psychology  "  are  des- 
ignated by  the  letters,  Th.,  T.,  W.  In  replying  to  questions  which  call  for 
examples,  students  should  never  repeat  those  of  any  text-book  of  psychology. 

400 


Review  Questions  401 

liranchcs  in  his  face;  and  then  ho  was  slaring  u])  llirough  ihc  sway- 
ing boughs  at  the  fleecy  white  clouds  against  the  blue  sky,  as  Baloo 
woke  the  jungle  with  his  deep  cries  and  tlie  birds  sang  in  mockery.  .  .  . 
Two  of  the  monkeys  caught  him  under  the  arms  and  swung  off  with  him 
through  the  tree  tops  .  .  .  The  glimpses  of  the  earth  far  down  below 
frightened  him,  and  the  terrible  check  and  jar  at  the  end  of  the  swing 
over  nothing  but  empty  air  brought  his  heart  between  his  teeth. 

.  .  .  For  a  time  he  was  afraid  of  being  dropped ;  then  he  grew  angry 
and  then  he  began  to  think.  The  first  thing  was  to  send  back  word  to 
Baloo.  —  A  (1(1  pled  from  Kipling. 

{(j)  In  the  consciousness  of  Afowgli,  thus  described,  find  and 
name:  (i)  At  least  four  sensational  qualities,  of  which  no  two 
belong  to  the  same  class.  (2)  At  least  two  sensational  elements, 
not  qualities,  which  belong  each  to  a  different  class.  (3)  Un- 
sensational   elements  of  at   least   two   sorts. 

(/))  Describe,  according  to  the  Franklin  theory,  and  according 
to  the  Hering  theory,  the  retinal  conditions  accompanying  Mowgli's 
consciousness  of:  (1)  Tlie  blueness  of  the  sky.  (2)  The  white- 
ness of  the  clouds. 

(r)  In  what  respect  does  the  excitation  of  Mowgli's  inner  ear 
differ  as  he  hears:  (i)  The  birds'  song.     (2)  Baloo's  cries? 

9.   Comment  on  the  following  statements.     Is  either  correct  ? 
Are  both  correct?  — 

(a)  "  The  famous  town  of  Mansoul  liad  live  gates.  Ear-gate,  Eye- 
gate,  Mouth-gate,  Nose-gate,  and  Feel-gate." — John  Bunvan. 

(h)  "  It  is  a  question  whether  the  sense  of  touch  includes  several 
senses  or  whether  it  is  one  sense  only."  —  Aristotle. 

10.  Analyze  into  its  sensational  elements  your  consciousness  of 
an  orange  as  you  take  the  orange  out  of  the  refrigerator  and  eat  it. 

1 1 .  .\nalyze  into  its  sensational  elements  the  consciousness 
involved:  (a)  in  yawning;  (b)  in  lifting  your  arm  from  a  hanging 
|)osition  to  the  back  of  your  head. 

IV.  12.  Give  two  original  examples  of  perception  invo!\nng 
the   fusion   of  different   sense   qualities. 

13.  Give  two  original  examples  of  assimilation. 

14.  Analyze  into  its  elements  your  consciousness:  (a)  that  the 

2V 


402  Quest io)is  on  Chapters  IV. -VII. 

clock  on  the  cliunh  s])irc  is  round;    {b)  that  the  spire  is  pointed; 
(r)  that  the  iluinli  is  at  a  distance  from  you. 

15.  Why  do  artists  close  one  eye  in  sketching? 

16.  Describe  in  full  your  consciousness  of  the  position  of  a 
pencil  ])()int  with  which  some  one  touches  your  arm  (your  eyes 
being  closed).*     (7\) 

17.  If  you  were  touched  (with  your  eyes  shut)  on  the  wrist 
and  on  the  chest,  and  then  required  to  re-touch  the  places  struck, 
you  would  get  more  nearly  right  on  the  wrist  than  on  the  chest. 
Why?*     (r.) 

18.  Describe  the  difference  between  a  right  hand  glove  and  a 
left-hand  glove.* 

V.  ig.  Give  at  least  one  example  of:  (a)  an  instinctive  action 
which  becomes  habitual;  (b)  an  acquired  habitual  action;  {c)  an 
impulsive  movement;    {d)  a  volitional  action. 

20.  Give  at  least  one  example  of:  (a)  a  delayed  instinct;  {b)  a 
transitorjMnstinct ;  (r)  an  instinct  common  to  human  beings  and 
animals. t     {\V.) 

21.  Should  a  boy  be  forbidden  to  fight?  (IF.)  Name  two 
other  ways  of  controlling  this  instinct. f 

VI.  22.  Classify  each  of  the  following  cases  of  attention: 
(c)  the  baby's  fixed  glance  at  the  bright  light;  {b)  the  miser's 
absorption  in  contemplating  his  stock-certificates  and  bonds; 
(r)  the  poet's  attention  to  the  composition  of  a  poem ;  {d)  the  school- 
boy's attention  to  it  in  learning  it  by  heart  for  to-morrow's  lesson; 
(e)  the  child's  attention  to  the  piece  of  candy  vv^hich  he  eats; 
(/)  the  young  girl's  attention  to  the  memories  of  last  night's 
party.     {Th.) 

23.  Give  an  original  example  of  absent-mindedness.  How 
is  it  related  to  attention? 

24.  Describe  carefully  the  bodily  attitude:  (a)  of  the  scout; 
{b)  of  the  eavesdropper.     (T.) 

25.  Describe  the  attentive  attitude  of  a  dog. 

*  Cf.  Appendi.x,  Section  IV.  f  Cf.  Appendi.x,  Section  V. 


Review  Questions  403 

26.  (a)  lA't  a  friend  wlio  is  unacquainted  with  the  purpose  of 
the  experiment,  read  the  passage  (.4)  on  page  385,  lines  12-30,  of 
this  book.  Direct  him  to  "skim  it  inattentively."  Keep  a  record 
of  the  time.  Next  let  him  read  attentively  the  passage  (B)  on 
page  391,  lines  12-31 ;  and  keep  a  record  of  tlie  time.  Compare  the 
time  records  in  the  two  cases,  {h)  Let  the  subject  write  what  he 
remembers  of  each  passage.  Compare  the  results.  (77/.)  (In 
recording  time,  use  a  stop-watch,  or  a  watch  with  second  liand 
starting  at  60.  The  experiment  should  be  tried  with  several 
subjects.  With  half  of  them  the  passages  should  be  read  in  the 
order  A  —  B  ;    with  the  others,  in  the  order  B  —  A.) 

27.  Pillsbury,  the  celebrated  chess-player,  used,  while  blind- 
folded, to  play  twelve  games  of  chess  simultaneously.  Is  this 
an  instance  of  simultaneous  attention?     (7"//.) 

28.  Do  children  master  the  mechanics  of  reading  better  by 
the  use  of  very  interesting  stories  or  by  the  use  of  relatively  un- 
interesting ones?     Why?     (W.) 

29.  Of  the  10  interests  mentioned  below,  name  (a)  four  that 
are  largely  instinctive,  {(>)  two  that  are  largely  acquired,  (r)  two 
that  are  long  delayed,  (d)  three  that  appear  early  in  life  and  also 
persist.     {TJi.)     The  interest, 

A  (i)  in  change  and  excitement." _|_  (6)  in  society.  4 

(X  (2)  in  getting  money .x-t             (^   (7)  in  rhythm.  <.- 

d  (3)  in  moving  objects.-               !?-(8)  in  adornment.*^ 

1^(4)  in  living  animals.-                l<{g)  in  the  stock  e.xchange. ^i- 

a,  (5)  in  adventure.                       5-  (10)  in  philosophy,  e 

30.  How  would  you  interest  a  boy  who  "hates  history"  in 
American  history? 

VII.  31.  Classify,  as  total  or  partial  (multiple  or  focalized), 
and  analyze  by  the  use  of  diagram  (cf.  pages  107,  109)  the  asso- 
ciation involved  in  each  of  the  following  passages:  — 

(a)  Hilda's  {)crception  of  the  "palaces,  churches,  and  imperial 
sepulchres  of  Rome  with  the  muddy  Tiber  eddying  through  the 
midst"  is  followed  by  the  memory  of  "her  native  village  with  its 
great,  old  elm  trees,  the  neat,  comfortal^le  houses  scattered  along 


404  Questions  on  Chapters  VII.-X. 

the  wide,  grassy  margin  of  its  street,  and  the  stream  of  gold-brown 
water,  which  her  taste  for  color  had  kept  flowing,  all  this  while, 
through  her  remembrance." 

(b)  The  sight  of  a  daisy  reminds  Wordsworth  of:  (i)  "a  little 
Cyclops  with  one  eye;"    (2)  "a  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold." 

(r)  "  What  is  the  feeling  of  lovers  when  they  recognize  a  lyre, 
or  a  garment,  or  anything  else  which  the  beloved  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  using?  Do  not  they,  from  knowing  the  lyre,  form  in  the 
mind's  eye  an  image  of  the  youth  to  whom  the  lyre  belongs?" 
—  Plato. 

32.  Give  an  example  (a)  of  focalized,  or  nearly  focalized,  asso- 
ciation; (b)  of  total  association. 

33.  Give  at  least  one  example  each  of  association:  (a)  through 
recency;  (b)  through  frequency;  (c)  through  natural  interest. 

34.  (a)  Which  part  of  the  total  consciousness,  "Tuesday, 
election  day,  being  a  holiday,  the  stores  will  be  closed,"  would 
probably  be  the  starting-point  of  association  in  the  mind  of  a 
schoolboy?  In  the  mind  of  a  housekeeper?  In  the  mind  of  a 
candidate  for  office?     (b)  Compose  a  similar  illustration.     (Th.) 

35.  If  you  are  'cramming'  a  ten-stanza  German  poem  before 
an  examination,  at  which  part  would  you  best  take  your  last  hasty 
glance  ? 

36.  Suppose  stress  to  be  laid  on  the  perfect  recitation  of  a 
Shakespearian  scene,  in  an  elocution  class :  what  would  be  two 
differences  between  the  processes  of  learning  it  (a)  vidth  a  week 
before  you;    (b)  with  an  hour  before  you? 

37.  Give  an  original  example  of  memorizing  by  grouping  facts. 

VIII.  38.  Describe  fully,  and  compare  your  experiences, 
when,  as  you  leave  your  train,  you  say :  (a)  "  There  is  my  father. " 
(6)  "That  man  looks  very  familiar  but  I  can't  remember  ever 
seeing  him  before." 

39.  Make  a  list  of  at  least  six  words,  expressing  'feelings  of 
relation.'  (Do  not  repeat  the  statements  of  your  text-book.) 
(Th.) 

40.  List   the   following   studies   according   to   prominence    in 


Review  Questions  405 

each  of  'feelings  of  relation.'     Place  first  the  most  'relational': 
geography,  arithmetic,  s[)elling,  grammar,   history.     {Th.) 

41.  Rewrite  the  following  passage  leaving  out  all  words  ex- 
pressing relations :  — 

"Because  of  tlic  annual  overflow  of  the  Nile  the  land  in  Egypt  is 
fertilized  by  a  deposit  of  rich  soil  brought  down  from  the  hills  to  the 
south.  The  land  thus  produces  great  crops  of  wheat  for  the  same 
reason  that  the  river  plains  of  China  produce  large  crops  of  rice. 
Hence  Egypt  used  to  be  called  the  granary  of  Rome.  The  inferior 
methods  of  cultivation,  largely  by  hand  labor,  are  due  to  the  lack  of 
inventiveness  and  of  education  among  the  population,  who  sow  by 
hand."     {.Th.) 

IX.  42.  What  kind  of  experience  —  perception,  imagination, 
or  conception  —  is  normally  suggested  by  each  of  the  following 
words  and  phrases:  {a)  "furniture";  {h)  "the  desk  in  the  li- 
brary at  home";  {c)  "  the  desk  on  the  platform  in  front  of  me"; 
{d)  "benevolence."     (If  a  conception  is  suggested,  classify  it.) 

43.  Give  an  original  example  of  at  least  three  visually  dissimilar 
objects  which  you  conceive  as  belonging  to  the  same  class, 

44.  What  is  the  difference  between  the  trains  of  associated 
images  normally  associated  by  the  following  terms:  "my  dog;" 
"dogs.." 

45.  Of  the  following  expressions,  which  (if  any)  are  correct? 
which  (if  any)  are  incorrect  ?  (a)  "I  am  thinking  of  Weissmann's 
doctrine  of  heredity. "  {b)  "  I  can't  think  what  the  name  is. " 
(r)  "  I  can't  think  how  you  could  have  done  it." 

46.  What  is  the  common  fault  of  the  verses  which  follow :  — 

"Deathless  principle  arise!" 

"O  worthy  Beauty!  peerless  A  Per  Se." 

X.  47.  State  three  propositions  standing  respectively  for:  {a)  a 
particular,  negative,  analytic  judgment;  {b)  a  particular,  atlirm- 
ative,  synthetic  judgment;  (<)  a  general,  negative,  analytic 
judgment. 

48.    Give  an  example  of  inductive  rea.soning,  followed  by  analytic- 


4o6  Qucslioiis  on  Chapters  X.-XIII. 

synthetic  deductive   reas(ining,    in  wtiich    the   conclusion   of   the 
induction  fcirms  one  judgment  of  the  deduction. 

49.  Suppose  that  you  have  forgotten  whether  independence 
or  independance  is  the  correct  spelling.  How  would  you  'reason 
out'  the  correct  spelling  from  your  knowledge  of  Latin?  How 
would  this  'reasoning'  differ  from  'remembering'  how  to  spell 
the  word? 

50.  An  office  clerk  sometimes  forgot  to  turn  off  the  electric 
light  when  he  left  at  six  o'clock  and,  in  this  case,  he  usually  re- 
turned at  eight  to  extinguish  it.  The  office  cat  paid  no  attention 
to  the  light  till  after  eight.  Then,  if  the  clerk  had  not  returned, 
she  put  out  the  light  by  pulling  down  a  cord.  Describe  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  cat  on  tlie  supposition  that  animals  do  not  reason. 

52.  Is  Max  Miiller  justified  in  the  statement:  "reasoning  is  im- 
possible without  language  or  without  signs  "  ?    Justify  your  answer. 

XI.     53.   Name  and  group  the  ten  most  important  emotions.* 

54.  Name  at  least  one  emotion  which  seems  not  to  be  '  receptive,' 
or  'passive.'  Is  this  a  real  or  apparent  exception  to  the  teaching 
of  pages  1 71-17 2,  above? 

55.  Give  at  least  two  examples  each  of:  (a)  exciting,  and  {b)  de- 
pressing emotion ;  and  of  (r)  emotion  with  future  object,  {d)  emo- 
tion with  past  object.  Where  would  you  place  these  emotions 
in  the  table  on  pages  175-176? 

56.  Name  an  emotion  roughly  parallel  with  each  of  the  follow- 
ing:   (a)   reverence,  {b)   terror,  (c)    scorn,  {d)   vanity,  (e)   shame. 

57.  How  do  you  define  and  classify  jealousy? 

58.  Name,  classify,  analyze  into  structural  elements,  describe 
as  self-related-to-object,  the  following  emotions:  {a)  the  emotion 
of  Shylock  toward  Antonio;  {b)  of  Macbeth  toward  Banquo's 
ghost;  (c)  of  a  little  boy  who  is  showing  a  new  jack-knife  to  his 
schoolmates;  {d)  the  emotions  of  Mowgli  as  described  in  Ques- 
tion 8. 

59.  Name  the  bodily  conditions  and  accompaniments  (includ- 
ing cerebral  conditions)  of  one  of  the  emotions  just  described. 

*  This  question  should  be  answered  before  reading  Chapter  XI.,  II. 


Review  Qius/ioiis  407 

60.  What  is  (lie  cniotioii  indicated  by  the  fi)ll()\ving  (juolation; 
and   how  do  you  know? — 

"She  felt  the  slackening  frost  distil 
Through  her  blood  the  last  ooze  dull  and  chill, 
Her  lids  were  dry  and  her  lips  were  still." 

61.  What  arc  the  main  diilcrences  between  my  enjoyment  of 
a  slice  of  fruit  cake  and  my  enjoyment  of  a  mountain  view? 

62.  What  are  the  main  constituents  of  your  amusement  at  the 
following  answer  to  an  examination  ciuestion:  "A  vacuum  is 
a  chamber  of  empty  air  where  the  Pope  lives." 

63.  What  would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  say  to  a  child  if  you  were 
trying  to  cure  his  fear  of  the  dark  ?  What  would  be  a  wise  thing 
to  say? 

64.  What  can  you  say  for  and  against  each  of  the  following 
counsels:  (a)  "  Choose  a  course  in  philosophy.  It  will  be  good 
discipline  because  you  don't  enjoy  the  study."  {h)  "Don't  take 
philosophy.  There  are  plenty  of  subjects  which  you  like 
better."  (c)  "All  ready  to  take  the  picture.  Look  bright  and 
animated." 

65.  Why  is,  or  is  not,  the  following  a  good  method  of  'studying' 
Millet's  "Gleaners":  "How  many  women  do  you  see  in  the 
picture?  How  many  horses?  What  else  do  you  see?"  (IT., 
taken  from  Bagley.) 

XH-XHI.  66.  Name  the  differences  and  ihe  likenesses  be- 
tween: (a)  willing  and  wishing;  (/;)  willing  and  believing  that 
something  will  happen ;   (r)  will  and  emotion. 

67.  Analyze  into  its  structural  elements,  and  describe  as  sclf- 
relatcd-to-object ;  (a)  willing  to  get  up  in  the  morning;  (/')  willing 
to  solve  a  proI)lcm  in  gcumctry. 

68.  Is  your  present  consciousness  of  yourself  as  going  to  the 
bookstore  to  buy  a  book  which  is  "advised"  (not  "rc(|uired '') 
in  one  of  your  courses  (a)  an  impulse?  (/')  a  simple  volition? 
((■)  a  choice  ?  J  ustify  your  rejection  of  each  of  two  of  these  possible 
answers. 


4o8  Questions  on  Chapters  XII.-XIII. 

69.  Why  arc  people  taught  to  run  a  typewriter  without  looking 
at  _the  keys  ? 

70.  Characterize  each  of  the  following  as  illustration  of  the 
attitude  of  will  or  of  faith :  (a)  Xerxes  scourging  the  Hellespont. 
ib)  The  man  who  exclaimed,  "My  country,  right  or  wrong!" 
(r)  The  Queen  of  Hearts,  in  "  Alice  in  Wonderland,"  who  met 
every  crisis  with  the  order  ''  Off  with  his  head." 


INDEX   OF   SUBJECTS 


Abnormal  consciousness,  381-309 ; 
phenomena,  381-3Q2 ;  explanation, 
392-394 ;  veridical  phenomena,  395- 
39Q.  Bibliography,  399.  (Cf.  Dreams, 
Hypnosis,  Hallucinations,  Illusions). 

Abstraction,  14s,  1O2  f.,  368;  relation  to 
language,  i()4  f. 

'Abstract  notion,'  145. 

Accommodation,  299,  342  f. 

Activity  (cf.  Assertiveness,  Self). 

Esthetic  emotion,  42,  176,  190-195 ; 
definition,  191  ;  immersion  of  self  in 
sense-objects,  191  f. ;  attentive,  192  f.; 
direct  and  immediate,  193  f. ;  disin- 
terestedness of,  194  f. ;  excludes  or- 
ganic sensations,  195  ;  distinguished 
from  religious  consciousness,  268  f. 
Bibliography,  373. 

Affective  consciousness,  emotion  as, 
172-175  ;  relation  to  physical  stimulus, 
374 ;  bodily  conditions,  374 ;  in 
dreams,  382.  Bibliography,  375.  (Cf. 
Emotion). 

Affective  elements,  128,  172-175, 
369-373  ;  not  always  present  in  con- 
sciousness, 173;  called  "attributive," 
174;  two,  174;  physical  stimuli,  197 
f. ;  physiological  condition,  199-204  ; 
bodily  conditions,  200-204.  Sensa- 
tionalist theory  of  Stumpf,  369.  Tridi- 
mensional theory  of  Wundt,  370  ff. 

Altruistic  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Analysis,  a  method  of  science,  i  f.,  6  f., 
274- 

Anim.aus,  reasoning  of,  disproved,  160- 
162,  368;  language  of,  163  f.,  368; 
•bodily  reactions  of,  207,  324,  355 ; 
taste  and  smell  of,  319,  321  ;  instincts, 
352  f.;  learning,  354  f.:  bibliography, 
356 ;  imitation.  355  :  bibliography, 
356.  Bibliography  of  animal  p.sy- 
chology,  356. 

Anlicipatoriness,  feeling  of,  221-223. 

Apartness,  consciousness  of  (cf.  Distance). 


Aphasia,  27. 

Assertiveness,  in  will,  216  f. ;  in  faith, 
232,  241  f.     (Cf.  Self). 

Assimilation,  64  f.,  359.  Review  ques- 
tions, 401. 

Association,  106-115,  359-361  ;  simul- 
taneous, 359 ;  successive,  io6  B. ; 
total,  107  f.,  359  ;  partial,  108  fl.,  359  ; 
focalized,  108;  "multiple,"  no;  spon- 
taneous, 359 ;  controlled,  359  f. ; 
classification,  112;  direction  of,  113- 
115  ;  effect  of  interest,  frequency,  and 
recencj',  114  f. ;  physical  condition, 
115  ;  in  memorizing,  120  f. ;  in  reason- 
ing, 153  ;  relation  to  conception,  139; 
in  mental  diagnosis,  361.  Bibliogra- 
phy. 359.  361.    Review  questions,  403  f. 

Attention,  93-103,  357  f. ;  nature.  93  f 
objects  of,  95-100  ;  classes  ;  natural  or 
instinctive,   100  f. ;    acquired,   100  f. 
physiological   conditions,    loi    f. ;     re 
suits  of,   102  f. ;    in  association,   114 
in    memorizing,    ii8    f. ;     relation    to 
judgment,   146;    in  a;sthetic  emotion, 
192  f. ;    in  dreams,  383.    Neural  con- 
ditions, 358.     Bibliography,  358.     Re- 
view questions,  402  f. 

Attributive  elements,  14,  223,  330  f. ; 
classes,  332.  (Cf.  Attention,  Affec- 
tive elements,  Realness). 

AirniTORV  consciousness,  16  f!.,  41-46; 
physical  condition,  43-45 ;  physi- 
ological condition,  45  f.,  313  ;  cerebral 
center,  296.  Beats,  315  f. ;  combina- 
tion tones,  316.  Theories,  316  f. : 
Rutherford,  317  ;  Ewald,  317  ;  Max 
Meyer,  317;  bibliography,  317  f. 
Qualities  of  pitch,  318  f.  Localization, 
78,  343  ff.  Review  ([ueslions,  401. 
(Cf.  Harmony,  Rhythm,  Melofly). 

Automatism,  391  ;  automatic  writing,  391. 


Balance,  physiological  condition,  313. 
Basilar  membrane,  313  f.,  316. 


409 


4IO 


Index  of  Subjects 


Beats,  31S  f- 

Beauty,  consciousness  of  (cf.  i-Esthctic 
Emotion). 

Belief,  233-244  ;  definition,  233  f.  (Cf. 
Faith). 

Bodily  reactions.  Perceptual,  87-02 ; 
cobrtlinaterl,  88;  habitual,  88  I.;  im- 
mediate, 89  f . ;  impulsive,  90  ;  non- 
volitional,  90  f. ;  table  of,  91  f.  In 
reasoning,  158-162  ;  in  emotion,  204- 
207,  370  fi. :  in  volition,  224  ff.,  231  f., 
242  ;  in  faith,  236,  242  ;  in  dreams, 
382  f. ;  in  hypnosis,  384  f.  Instinctive, 
351  f.  Bibliography,  356.  (Cf.  Move- 
ments) . 

Brain,  290-297  ;  structure,  290  ff.  (Cf. 
Cerebral  hemispheres.  Frontal  Lobes, 
Occipital  lobes,  Parietal  lobes,  Ro- 
landic  area.  Temporal  lobes). 

Brightness,  consciousness  of,  33  f. ; 
physical  and  physiological  conditions, 
40  f.     (Cf.  Intensity). 

Cerebral  hemispheres,  293-297 ;  fis- 
sures, 293  ;  lobes,  293  f. 

"Chemical  sensations,"  319. 

Childhood,  imitation  in,  255  f. ;  opposi- 
tion in,  257.  Bibliography  of  child 
psychology,  356. 

Choice  (cf.  Volition). 

"  Circulatory  sensations,"  54. 

Clang,  46. 

Classification,  a  method  of  science,  i  f., 
6f.,  274. 

Cochlea,  45  f.,  312,  313  f.,  317. 

Cold  (cf.  Temperature  consciousness). 

Color,  consciousness  of,  29-41  ;  ele- 
mental, 29  f. ;  color  square,  30  ;  num- 
ber of  color  qualities,  31  ;  color  pyra- 
mid, 32  f. ;  physical  conditions,  34  f. ; 
physiological  conditions,  37  f.  Theo- 
ries of  color  and  colorless  light  con- 
sciousness, 301-308 :  Young-Helm- 
holtz,  302,  307  ;  Hering,  302-305,  307  ; 
Franklin,  305-308  ;  von  Krics,  305  f . 
BibHography,  308.  Contrast  phenom- 
ena, 308  f.  (Cf.  Contrast).  Pur- 
kinje  phenomenon,  305  f.  Review 
questions,  401. 

Color  blindness,  306  f. ;  dichromatic, 
306  f. ;  achromatic,  306.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 308. 

Colorless  light,  consciousness  of,  31  f. ; 
number   of   sensational   qualities,   31  ; 


Colorless  light  —  Continued 

physical  conditions,  34  f. ;  physio- 
logical conditions,  37  f.  Theories  (cf. 
Color).     Review  questions,  401. 

Combination  tones,  316  ;  difference  tones, 
316;  summation  tones,  316;  objec- 
tive and  subjective,  316 ;  physio- 
logical condition,  316. 

Comparison,  135. 

Complementary  colors,  36.    (Cf .  Contrast). 

Conception,  136-143,  367 ;  form  of 
generalization,  141  ;  relational  con- 
sciousness, 136;  definition,  136;  as 
experience  of  generaUty,  136 ;  clas- 
sification :  verbal,  137  f.,  relational, 
137  f.,  motor,  137  f.,  367 ;  followed 
by  partial  associations,  139 ;  uses  of 
140  f. ;  dangers  of,  141  ;  distinguished 
from  imagination,  141  f.,  367  ;  rela- 
tion to  language,  166.  Review  ques- 
tions, 405. 

Consciousness,  i,  273-280 ;  sensa- 
tional, 14 ;  attributive,  14 ;  rela- 
tional, 14  ;  immediate  and  reflective, 
284.  (Cf.  Elements  of  consciousness, 
Self). 

Contact,  consciousness  of,  51. 

Contempt,  182,  189. 

Contrast,  visual,  40,  308  f.  Successive, 
41:  bibhography,  310.  Simultaneous, 
41,  308  f.:   bibliography,  310. 

Cortex  (cf.  Cerebral  hemispheres). 

Corti,  rods  of,  314  f. 

Cutaneous  consciousness,  324  £f.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 328.  (Cf.  Skin,  Tactual  sen- 
sations). 

Deaf  mutes,  thought  without  words,  167  f. 

Deduction,  150.     (Cf.  Reasoning). 

Deliberation,  227  f. 

Depth,  consciousness  of,  72-75,  341  f. ; 
complex,  73  ;  condition  of,  74,  342  ; 
disparate  images,  342 ;  accommoda- 
tion, 342  f. ;  convergence,  343.  (Cf. 
Space  consciousness) . 

Difference,  consciousness  of,  83,  85,  129. 

Difference  tones,  316. 

Discord,  physical  condition  of,  83. 

Dissociation,  383 ;  in  dreams,  383 ;  in 
hypnosis,  386  f.;    in  waking  life,  391  £. 

Distance,  consciousness  of,  67-70,  335  ; 
complex,  67  f.  Review  questions, 
402.     (Cf.  Space  consciousness). 

Dizziness,  53. 


Index  of  Subjects 


411 


Dreams,  381-384 ;  analog>'  to  waking 
consciousness,  382 ;  characterized  by 
hallucination,  382,  by  unremembered 
motor  reactions,  382  f.,  by  dissocia- 
tion, 383  f. ;  connected  with  waking 
consciousness,  383  f.  Bibliography, 
399- 

Duration,  consciousness  of,  330. 

Ear,  45  f.,  310-315;  structure,  310  fF. 
(Cf.  Basilar  membrane,  Cochlea,  Semi- 
circular canals). 

Egoistic  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Elements  of  consciousness  (structu- 
ral), 14  ff.,  29  ff..  328  ff. ;  table  of, 
331  f.  (Cf.  Affective  elements.  At- 
tributive elements.  Relational  ele- 
ments. Sensational  elements,  Exten- 
sity,  Intensity,  Qualities). 

Emotion,  170-215,  373  (T.  Nature,  170- 
175:  as  personal  attitude,  170-172, 
375  ;  individual,  170  f. ;  receptive,  171 
f. ;  as  affective  consciousness,  172-175  ; 
includes  organic  sensations,  54,  174  f. 
Forms,  175-197  :  classification,  175  f., 
373.  Personal,  175-189:  egoistic, 
177  ff. ;  altruistic,  177;  sympathetic, 
185-189;  heterogeneous,  187-189. 
Impersonal,  189-197:  egoistic,  190; 
altruistic,  190  ff. ;  aesthetic,  190-195, 
enjoyment  of  logical  unity,  196, 
sense  of  humor,  196  f.,  374.  Physical 
stimuli,  197  f.,  374 ;  physiological 
condition,  199-200;  bodily  condi- 
tions, 200-204,  374  f- ;  bodily  reac- 
tions, 204-207.  James-Lange  theory, 
375.  Significance  of,  208-215 ;  con- 
trol of,  208  f. ;  harmful  and  helpful 
effects  of,  210.  Biological  significance, 
207,  376.  Bibliography,  373  ff.  Re- 
view questions,  406  f. 

End-organs,  of  taste,  50,  319  ff. ;  of 
smell,  319  ff. ;  of  pressure,  51  f..  325  ; 
of  pain,  56  f.,  326  f. ;  of  warmth  and 
cold,  59,  326  ;  lowest  form,  297  ;  of 
animals,  319;  in  muscles  and  joints, 
327- 

Ennui,  176,  190. 

Envy,  176,  187  f. 

Ether  waves,  35  f.,  44. 

Ethics,  214,  251  f. 

Experiment,  nature,  7  f. 

Explanation,  a  method  of  science,  i  f.,  6, 
274. 


E.xtensity,  consciousness  of,  329,  334  f.  ; 
visual,  34,  69  f. ;  physical  and  physi- 
ological conditions,  40  f. ;  auditory, 
43  ;  tactual,  51;  in  space  conscious- 
ness, 67  ff.,  80 ;  empiricist  theory, 
334  ;  nativistic  theory,  334  f.  Bibli- 
ography, 335. 

Eye,  38  f.,  297-301  ;  development,  297  f. ; 
structure,  298  f. ;  movements  of,  299, 
339  f.,  342  f.     (Cf.  Retina). 

Faith,  233-244.  Nature,  233-240 ; 
adoptive  attitude,  233 ;  assertive, 
233  ;  distinguished  from  belief,  233  f., 
from  will,  234  ff. ;  includes  feelings  of 
realness  and  congruence,  234  f.,  236- 
239 ;  objects  of,  233,  235  f.  Bodily 
reactions,  236.  Duty  of,  238  f.  Inner 
or  outer,  2.}o  ;  deliberative  or  simple,^ 
240.  Conflict  with  will,  240.  Signifi-  ~^ 
cance  of,  240-244.  In  religious  con- 
sciousness, 266  f.  Bibliography,  378. 
Review    questions,    408. 

Familiar,  enjoyment  of,  176,  190. 

Familiarity,  consciousness  of,  130  f. ; 
analysis,  130 ;  relational  conscious- 
ness, 130,  364.  Review  questions, 
404. 

Fear,  177,  181  f.,  207,  212. 

'Feeling,'  174,  366. 

Form-consciousness,  70-75  ;  two-di- 
mensional, 70-72  ;  three-dimensional, 
72-75  ;  consciousness  of  position,  75- 
79- 

Friendship,  175,  180. 

Frontal  lobes,  200,  293. 

Function,  274  f. 

Functional  psychology  (cf.  Psychology). 

Fusion,  63  f.,  359;  tonal,  81.  Review 
questions,  401. 

Future,  the,  219;  consciousness  of,  222; 
relational  experience,  223. 

Generality,  exiiericnce  of,  136 ;  in- 
cludes consciousness  of  class  and 
consciousness  of  'anyness,'  136;  in 
conception,    137   f.     (Cf.  Conception). 

Generalization  (cf.  Conception),  367  ; 
based  on  memory,  117;  relation  to 
language.  164  f.  Review  questions, 
405- 

Geometrical  illusions  (cf.  Illusions). 

Gratitude,  177. 

Gustatory  consciousness  (cf.  Taste). 


412 


Index  of  Subjecls 


Ilabil.     Bililiography,  356. 

Uallucinalions,  60  f. ;  in  dreams,  382  ; 
in  hypnosis,  385  ;  in  waking  life,  388 
ff. ;    involuntary,  3Q0. 

Hardness,  consciousness  of,  51. 

Uarmony,  consciousness  of,  81-83 ; 
physical  condition,  82.  Bibliogra- 
phy, 349- 

Ilatc,  175,  179,  181  f.,  189,  207,  212. 

Hope,  212. 

Hotness  (cf.  Temperature  consciousness). 

Human  body,  from  the  psychologist's 
standpoint,  285-328 ;  relation  to  my- 
self, 285  ;  comparison  with  other  ob- 
jects, 285 ;  function,  285 ;  motor 
structure,  286 ;  cerebro-spinal  ner- 
vous system,  286  £f. ;  sense  organs 
and  the  physiological  conditions  of 
sensations,  297-328.  (Cf.  Nervous 
system,  Brain,  Cerebral  hemispheres, 
Rolandic  area.  Ear,  Eye,  Nose,  Skin). 

Humility,  176,  182  f.,  184. 

Humor,  sense  of,  176,  196  f. ;  definition, 
197.     Bibliography,  374. 

Hunger  (cf.  'Organic'  sensations). 

Hypnosis,  355  f.,  384-388 ;  methods, 
384 ;  bodily  reactions,  384  f. ;  hal- 
lucinations, 385  f. ;  new  personality, 
386  f. ;  connected  with  waking  con- 
sciousness, 387 ;  post-hypnotic  sug- 
gestion, 387  f. ;  therapeutic  use,  388  ; 
criminal  suggestion,  388. 

Idea- psychology  (cf.  Psychology). 

Illusions,  60  f. ;  in  dreams,  382  ;  in 
hypnosis,  385  ;  in  waking  Ufe,  388  5. ; 
involuntary,  390.  Geometrical,  72,  337- 
341  ;  Miiller-Lyer  figure,  337  f.;  Zbll- 
ner  figure,  337  f. ;  Poggendorf  figure, 
337  f. ;  Schroder  figure,  338  f. ;  ex- 
planations, 338  f. 

Imagination,  n-28,  61 ;  as  unshared 
experience,  12;  as  impersonal,  13;  as 
particularizing  consciousness,  13 ;  as 
sensational  experience,  14  ff. ;  con- 
crete, 16-23  ;  visual,  16  £[. ;  auditory, 
16  f.,  21  ;  tactual,  16  f.,  20  f. ;  of 
smell  and  taste,  22  f. ;  mixed,  23 ; 
verbal,  23  ff. ;  sensational  elements 
of,  29-62  ;  physiological  condition, 
60  ;  as  fusion  and  assimilation,  63-66  ; 
as  realized  combination  and  differen- 
tiation, 66-85  ;  as  combination  of 
limited  groups  of  sense-elements,  85  f. ; 


Imagination  —  Continued 

bodily  reactions  in,  87-92  ;  produc- 
tive and  reproductive  (cf.  Memoo')> 
104-106,  1x5-123;  association,  106- 
115;  in .  recognition,  125  f. ;  distin- 
guished from  thought,  133  f. ;  dis- 
tinguished from  conception,  141  f.,  367  ; 
relation  to  judgment,  144  f.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 284.     Review  questions,  400. 

Imitation,  252-259 ;  fashion  and  tra- 
dition, 254  ;  physical  and  psychic,  255  ; 
personal,  255  f. ;  related  to  opposi- 
tion, 257  f.  Of  animals,  355.  In  hyp- 
notism, 355  f.     Bibliography,  378. 

Immediate-consciousness  (cf.  Conscious- 
ness). 

'Impulse,'  226,  377. 

Indiference,  physiological  condition,  200. 

Individualizing  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Induction,  150.     (Cf.  Reasoning). 

Instinct,  351-353 ;  classes,  352 ;  of 
animals,  352  f.  Bibliography,  356. 
Review  questions,  402. 

Intellectual  sentiment  (cf.  Logical  pleas- 
ure). 

Intensity,  consciousness  of,  329  f. ; 
visual,  ss  f- ;  physical  and  physi- 
ological conditions,  40  f. ;  auditory, 
42  f. ;  taste,  50;  tactual,  51.  (Cf. 
Brightness,  Loudness) . 

Interest,  involuntary  attention,  103. 

Introspection,  method  of  psychology,  6  ff. 

Intuition,  154. 

Invention  (cf.  Opposition). 

James-Lange  Theory,  375. 

Joy,  bodily  conditions,  203  f. 

Judgment,  144-158;  definition,  144; 
as  experience  shared  with  other  selves, 
144 ;  complex,  144 ;  relational  ex- 
perience, 144 ;  objects  of,  144 ;  dis- 
tinguished from  perception,  144  f. ; 
classification :  particular  or  general, 
14s  f. ;  positive  or  negative,  146,  147  ; 
analytic  or  synthetic,  146  f. ;  reason- 
ing, 148-162.  Bibliography,  368.  Re- 
view cjuestions,  405.     (Cf.  Reasoning). 

Language,  nature  and  origin,  368 ;  re- 
lated to  conception,  141  ;  related  to 
thought,  162-169,  368;  definition, 
163;  natural,  163;  conventional, 
163  ff. ;  of  animals,  163  f.,  368;  ac- 
cjuired  by  imitation,  254. 


Index  of  Subjects 


413 


Learning,  .Vv5-,3S6 ;  physical  and  psy- 
chical, 35,5  f. ;  presupposes  piemory, 
354 ;  individual  and  social,  354.  Of 
animals,  354  f. 

'Less,'  feeling  of,  i2q. 

Like  and  dislike,  175,  176,  177,  170,  189, 
190. 

Likeness,  feeling  of,  1 20. 

Linkage,  consciousness  of,  222 ;  rela- 
tional experience,  223. 

Localization,  75-79,  335  f. ;  two-di- 
mensional, 75  f. ;  three-dimensional, 
75  ff.  Visual,  77  f.  Auditor>',  78  f., 
343  ff. ;  facts,  343  f. ;  physical  con- 
dition, 344  f. ;  phjsiological  condition, 
345 ;  nativistic  theory,  346 ;  em- 
piricist or  motor  theory,  346  ff.  Bib- 
liography, 349.    Review  questions,  402. 

Local  sign,  335  f. ;  tactual,  336  ;  visual, 
336  ;  kincBsthetic  theory,  336  f. ;  ele- 
mental theory,  336  f. 

Logic,  5. 

Logical  pleasure,  176,  ig6. 

Loudness,  42  f. 

Love,  175,  178,  179,  180,  212. 

Loyally,  180. 

Malice,  176,  187  f. 

'Many,'  feeling  of,  129. 

Malhematics,  5. 

Medulla  oblongata,  202,  291. 

Meissner's  corpuscles,  52,  325. 

Melody,  consciousness  of,  84  f.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 349. 

Memory,  reproductive  imagination,  106, 
115-123;  essential  to  learning,  117, 
354  ;  methods  of  memorizing,  11 7-1 23  ; 
by  attention,  118  f.,  grouping,  119  f., 
association,  120  f.,  repetition,  121  f. 
Loss  of,  in  hypnosis,  386  f.  Bibliogra- 
phy, 361.  Revdew  questions,  404. 
(Cf.  Recognition). 

Mitfreude,  176,  185. 

Mob  consciousness  (cf.  Social  conscious- 
ness). 

Moment,  219. 

Moral  consciousness  (cf.  Social  conscious- 
ness) ;  distinguished  from  religious 
consciousness,  267  f. 

'More,'  feeling  of,  129. 

Movements,  bodily,  voluntar>',  226, 
231  f. ;  impulsive,  226,  231  f. ;  imi- 
tative, 252  ff. ;  characteristic  of 
cerebral     activity,     202,     296 ;      con- 


MovEMENTS  —  Continued 

sciousness  of,  327  f.     (Cf.   Bodily  re- 
actions). 

Muscles,  286;   end-organs  in,  327. 

Nausea  (cf.  'Organic'  Sensations). 

Nerve  division.     Bibliography,  328. 

Nervous  system,  286  fl. ;  tlevelopment, 
286 ;  neurones,  287  f. ;  nerve  cells, 
287  f. ;  nerve  filires,  288  f. ;  nerve 
centres,  287,  288  IT. ;  spinal  cord,  288 
f. ;    brain,  289  ff.     (Cf.  Brain). 

Neurones  (cf.  Nervous  System). 

Noise,  42,  43  ;  physical  condition,  44 ; 
physiological  condition,  46. 

Nose,  structure  of,  320. 

Objects,  of  the  self,  3  ff.,  280-282 ; 
personal  and  imi)ersonal,  3  f.,  281, 
369  ;  private  and  public,  3  f.,  281  ; 
externalized  and  non-externalized,  4, 
281  ;  table  of,  4  ;  myself  as  object,  3  f., 
280  f. ;  human  body  as  object,  285. 
Of  perception,  12  f.;  of  imagination, 
12;  of  attention,  95-100;  of  recog- 
nition, 127;  of  thought,  133  f. ;  of 
emotion,  175  ff.,  369;  of  will,  219  f. ; 
of  faith,  233  ff.;  of  belief,  233  ff. 

Obligation,  consciousness  of,  251. 

Occipital  lobes,  35,  294  f. 

Odor  (cf.  Smell). 

Olfactory  consciousness  (Cf.  Smell). 

Oneness,  feeling  of,  1 29. 

Opposition,  252,  256-259;  related  to 
imitation,  257  f. ;  invention,  257  f. 
Bibliography,  378. 

'Organic'  sensations,  53  f. ;  in  emotion, 
54.  174  f- 

Pain,  consciousness  of,  55-57  ;  physical 
condition,  56 ;  physiological  condi- 
tion (end-organs),  56  f.,  326  f. ;  factor 
in  taste  consciousness,  49. 

Paramnesia,  131  f. 

Parietal  lobes,  293  f. 

Particularizing  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Passive  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Past,  consciou.sness  of,  130  f.,  21  p. 

Perception,  ii  ff.,  oi,  284  ;  passive,  12  ; 
as  experience  shared  with  other  selves, 
J?.;  implies  oliject  independent  of 
self,  12  f.  ;  as  impersonal,  13;  as 
particularizing  consciousness,  13 ;  as 
sens;itional    experience,     14    ff.,     172; 


4M 


Index  of  Subjects 


Perception — Continued 

sensational  elemi-nts  of.  20-62  ;  physi- 
ological comlilion,  00  ;  as  fusion  and 
assimiliation,  (),i -(>();  as  ri-alized  com- 
bination and  ditlcrentiation,  60-85 
(cf.  Space,  Rhythm)  ;  as  combination 
of  limited  groups  of  sense-elements, 
8s  f. ;  bodily  reactions  in,  87-92  ;  dis- 
tinguished from  thought,  133  f. ;  rela- 
tion to  judgment,  144  f.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 284.  Review  questions,  400. 
(Cf.  Attention). 

Personality,  dissociation  of,  386  f.,  391  f., 
394- 

Philosophy,  nature,  2. 

Physical  sciences,  $. 

Pit<:h,  41  f. ;  physical  condition,  43  f. ; 
cjualities  of,  318  f. ;  physiological 
condition,  319. 

Pity,  17b. 

Pleasantness,  174;  bodily  conditions, 
201.     (Cf.  Affective  elements). 

Pleasure,  212;   value  of,  214. 

Position,  consciousness  of  (cf.  Localiza- 
tion). 

Prayer,  264  f. 

Present,  the,  219. 

Pressltre,  consciousness  of,  So-54 ; 
physical  condition,  51  f.  ;  physio- 
logical condition  (end-organs),  52, 
325  ff.,  335  ;  cerebral  condition,  54  ; 
factor  in  taste  consciousness,  49. 

Pride,  17b,  182  f.,  184. 

Psychoanalysis,  361. 

Psychology,  nature,  i  ff. ;  methods, 
6  fl. ;  as  science  of  the  self,  1,5,  273- 
282 ;  experimental,  7  f. ;  compara- 
tive, 354  ;  normal  and  abnormal,  8  f., 
381-399 ;  use  of,  9  f. ;  in  novel  and 
in  drama,  261  f. ;  as  science  of  ideas, 
273  f.,  278  f. ;  as  science  of  mental 
functions,  274  f.,  277.  Bibliography 
on  fundamental  conceptions  of,  282  f. 

Psychophysical  law,  S33  ■ 

Purkinje  phenomenon,  305  f. 

Qualities,  329;  sensational,  29  ff.,  198. 
Review  questions,  401.  (Cf.  Sensa- 
tional elements.  Color,  Colorless  light. 
Noise,  Pitch,  Taste,  Smell,  Pressure, 
Pain,  Temperature  consciousness). 

Realness,  feeling  of;  in  voUtion,  221  f. ; 
attributive,    223 ;     in    faith,    234    f.. 


Realness  —  Continued 

23<>-239;  parallel  with  not-realness, 
237  f. ;  not  primitive,  237.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 3  78. 

Re.\soning,  148-162;  definition,  148; 
deductive,  148  f.  ;  inductive,  148  ff. ; 
analytic-synthetic,  152  f.  ;  uses  of, 
153-156;  dangers  of,  156-158;  bodily 
reactions,  158-162;  of  animals,  160- 
162,  36S ;  without  words,  168.  Bib- 
liography, 368.  Review  questions, 
405  f- 

Receptive  consciousness  (cf.  Self). 

Recognition,  124-132 ;  distinguished 
from  memory,  124;  supplemented  by 
associated  imagination,  125  f. ;  in- 
cludes consciousness  of  persisting  self, 
126  f.,  131;  object  of,  127;  as  rela- 
tional consciousness,  127-131  ;  ex- 
perimental study  of,  362. 

Reflective  consciousness  (cf.  Conscious- 
ness) . 

Reflex  reaction,  90. 

Relational  consciousness,  14,  66, 
127-131,  223;  in  dreams,  382.  Re- 
view questions,  404  f.  (Cf.  Recogni- 
tion, Thought). 

Relational  elements,  127-131,  330  f., 
362-366;  opposing  theories,  127  f., 
130  ;  favoring  theories,  362  f. ;  found 
in  experience,  12S;  confirmed  by  ex- 
periments, 363  f.  ;  enumeration,  128  f., 
j3S'y  physiological  condition,  128  f.  ; 
in  consciousness  of  generality,  136  f. 
Bibliography,  365  f. 

Relief,  174. 

Religious  consciousness,  262-270,  379 
f.  ;  definition,  262  f.  ;  historical  forms, 
263  ;  rites,  264  f.  ;  personal,  265  ; 
active,  266  f. ;  distinguished  from 
moral  consciousness,  267  f.,  from 
ffisthetic  consciousness,  268  f.,  from 
conviction  of  reality,  269. 

Respiratory  sensations,  54. 

Retina,  38  f.,  298,  300  f.  ;  diagram  of, 
300  ;   processes  of,  302  ff. 

Reverence,  175,  179,  180,  182,  189. 

Rhythm,  consciousness  of,  83  f. ;  audi- 
tor>',  84  ;  motor,  84.   Bibliography,  350. 

Rolandic  area,  54,  200,  202,  290,  296. 

Sameness,  experience  of,  131. 

Science,  i  f. 

Scorn,  175,  179,  182. 


Index  of  Subjects 


415 


Self,  persistent,  :•,,  14;  complex.  3,  14; 
unique,  3,  14:  related,  .s.  1  1-  .\s  efjo- 
istic,  17s  ff.,  21O  IT.;  as  altruistie,  175 
ff.,  232  ff. ;  as  particularizing  and  in- 
dividualizing, 13,  170  flf.,  218  IT..  234  ff. ; 
as  generaliziuK,  136  ff. ;  as  receptive  or 
passive,  11  ff.,  171  ff. ;  as  active  or  as- 
sertive, 210  ff.,  232  ff.  As  perceiving 
and  imagining,  11  ff. ;  as  recogniz- 
ing, 124  ff. :  as  thinking,  133  ff. ;  as 
emotional.  170  ff. ;  as  willing,  216  ff. ; 
as  believing,  231  ff. ;  as  social,  245  ff. ; 
as  religious,  260  ff.  As  object,  3  f., 
280  f. ;  as  subject,  4  f.  Secondary 
or  subconscious  self,  392  ff.  (Cf.  Con- 
sciousness) . 

Sdf-hypnotization,  390. 

Self- psychology  (cf.  Psychology). 

Scmidrcular  canals,  53,  311,  313. 

Sensation,  60. 

Sensational  consciousness,  object  of, 
8s ;  in  dreams,  382.  Review  ques- 
tions, 401.  (Cf.  Auditory  conscious- 
ness. Cutaneous  consciousness.  Gus- 
tatory consciousness,  Olfactory  con- 
sciousness. Visual  consciousness). 

Sensational  elements,  14  ff.,  128, 
328  ff.  ;  of  perception  and  imagina- 
tion, 29-62  ;  combined  with  inten- 
sity and  extensity,  59.  Review  ques- 
tions, 401. 

Sensationalist  theories,  220  f. ;  Stumpf, 
369- 

Sense-ofgans,  286,  297  ff.  (Cf.  Ear,  Eye, 
Nose,  Skin,  Tongue). 

Sensory  circles,  68. 

Shame,  176,  184. 

Skin,  SI  f.,  68  f.,  324  f. ;  end-organs  in, 
32s  ;    localization  of  stimuli,  335  f. 

Smell,  consciousness  of,  47  ;  factor  in 
taste  consciousness,  49 ;  cerebral 
centre  of,  296,  321  ;  end-organs  of, 
319  ff. ;  of  animals,  321.  Bibliog- 
raphy, 323. 

Smoothness,  consciousness  of,  s  i  ■ 

Social  consciousness,  245-2S9 ;  mob 
consciousness,  245-248  ;  imitative,  245 
f. ;  capricious,  246  ;  reflective,  249  ff. ; 
dominating,  240  f. ;  moral  conscious- 
ness, 251  f. :  imitation,  252-259;  op- 
position, 256-259.  Bibliography,  378. 
(Cf.  Self). 

Society.  249,  250. 

Sociology,  5. 


Somnambulism,  383. 

Space  consciousness,  66-81,  334  ff. ; 
elements  of,  66  f. ;  consciousness  of 
distance,  67-70,  335  ;  consciousness  of 
form,  70-75  ;  consciousness  of  posi- 
tion, 75-79 ;  empiricist  theory,  80. 
(Cf.  Extensity,  Illusions,  Localiza- 
tion). 

Strain  sensations,  52  f.,  327. 

Structural  analysis  of  consciousness,  14, 
172.  (Cf.  Elements  of  conscious- 
ness) . 

Subconscious  self  (cf.  Self). 

Subject,  myself  as  subject,  5. 

Summation  tones,  316. 

Surface-form  (cf.  Form-consciousness). 

Sympathy,  179,  189;  'organic,'  179; 
emotions  of,  185-189;  breadth,  185- 
187  ;    heterogeneous,  187-189. 

Synesthesia,  390. 

Tactual  sensations,  16  ff. ;  local  sign,  336. 
(Cf.  Cutaneous  consciousness,  Skin). 

Taste,  consciousness  of,  47-50 ;  com- 
plexity, 49 ;  qualities,  50 ;  physical 
and  physiological  conditions,  50,  321  ; 
cerebral  centre,  296,  323  ;  end-organs, 
319  ff.     Bibliography,  323. 

Telepathy,  395  f. ;  spontaneous,  395  f. ; 
experimentally  induced,  396.  Bib- 
liography, 399. 

Temperaturi;  consciousness,  57-59 ; 
physical  condition,  58 ;  physiological 
condition,  58  f.     Bibliography,  328. 

Temporal  lobes,  47,  294,  296. 

Tenderness,  175,  179,  180. 

Tendons,  286. 

Tension,  174. 

Terror,  175,  179,  i8r. 

Thirst  (cf.  'Organic'  sensations). 

Thought,  133-169,  367 ;  distinguished 
from  perception  and  imagination,  133 
f. ;  relational  experience,  133  f.,  135  ; 
impersonal,  134  ;  as  experience  shared 
with  other  selves,  134  f.,  367  ;  causal 
thinking,  135  ;  comparison,  135  ;  con- 
ception, 136-143 ;  judgment,  144- 
147  ;  reasoning,  148-162  ;  bodily  re- 
actions, 158-162  ;  relation  to  language, 
162-169,  368;  often  result  of  volition, 
216  note.  (Cf.  Conception,  Judgment, 
Reasoning). 

Time,  consciousness  of,  85,  131.  Bib- 
liography, 366.     (Cf.  Past,  Future). 


4i6 


Index  of  Subjects 


Tour,  43,  62,  3t8;  fusion  of,  81  ;  over- 
tones, 318;  pure,  318.  (C'f.  Combi- 
nation tones.  Filch). 

Tongue,  321  fT. 

Tridimensiondl  throry,  370  ff. 

Trusl,  180. 

Two-nfss,  consciousness  of,  67-60  ;  physi- 
ological condition,  68  f.  (Cf.  Dis- 
tance). 

Typical  personal  relations,  260-262. 

Unity,  consciousness  of,  83,  85. 
Unpleasantness,  174,   214  ;    of  pain,  55  ; 

bodily  conditions,  201.     (Cf.  Affective 

elements) . 
Utility,  consciousness  of,  iqS- 

Vanity,  176,  183  f. 

Veridical  phenomena,  305-399 ;  telep- 
athy, 395  f. ;  clairvoyant  visions, 
396  f. ;  mediumistic  revelations,  396 
ff. ;   theories,  398  f. 

Visual  consciousness,  16  ff.,  28-41, 
301  ff. ;  physical  conditions,  34  f. 
physiological  conditions,  37  f.,  297  ff. 
factor  in  taste  consciousness,  49 
cerebral  centre  of,  295  f. ;  local  sign 
336.     (Cf.  Color,  Colorless  Light). 


Voi.iTio.v,  216-232,  377 ;  anticipatory, 
221  ff. ;  classification,  223  f. ;  outer 
volition,  224  ff. ;  inner  volition,  226  f. ; 
simple  volition,  227  ff. ;  choice,  227 
ff. ;  without  effort,  228  f. ;  with 
effort,  228  f.     (Cf.  Will). 

Warmth  (d.  Temperature  conscious- 
ness). 

Wetness,  consciousness  of,  51. 

Wholeness,  experience  of,  144  f. 

Will,  216-232,  376.  Nature,  216-223  •' 
as  personal  attitude,  216-220;  ac- 
tive, 216 ;  imperious,  216  f. ;  indi- 
vidualizing, 218;  with  and  without 
temporal  reference,  218;  objects  of, 
2 1 9  f . ;  as  anticipatory  consciousness, 
220-223.  Forms,  223-230  (cf.  Voli- 
tion) ;  bodily  conditions,  231  f . ;  dis- 
tinguished from  faith,  234  ff. ;  con- 
flict with  faith,  240 ;  significance  of 
240-244.     Review  questions,  407  f. 

Wish,    219. 

Word,  163  ff.  ;  relation  to  associa- 
tion, 165  f. ;  not  necessary  to  thought, 
167  f. 

Word  images,  24  ff.     (Cf.  Imagination). 


INDEX   TO   AUTHORS 


Ach,  N.,  36.S,  365. 

AlechsiefT,  N.,  370,  371  and  note,  372,  373. 

Alexander,  N.  B.,  368. 

Allen,  J.  B.,  356. 

Alrulz,  S.,  328. 

Angell,  J.  R.,  87  note,  206  f.,  275,  282, 

311,  346  note,  340,  363,  366,  376. 
Angier,  R.  P.,  374. 

Aristotle,  180,  184,  230,  251  and  note. 
Aronsohn,  E.,  323. 
Aster,  E.  von,  366. 
Augustine,  St.,  361. 

Bain,  A.,  373,  378. 

Baird,  J.  W.,  308,  342  and  note,  343. 

Baldwin.  J.  M.,  237,  259,  367,  378. 

Barker,  L.  F.,  288  note,  324. 

Bawden,  H.  H.,  283. 

Bell,  J.  C,  356. 

Bentley,  I.  M.,  366. 

Benussi,  V.,  341  note. 

Berkeley,  G.,  367. 

Berry,  C.  S.,  356,  361. 

Bethe,  A.;  356. 

Binet,  A.,  363,  365,  376,  301  note. 

Bloch,  E.,  344  note,  346  note,  347  note, 

348  note,  340- 
Bohn,  G.,  356. 
Bolton,  T.  L.,  350. 
Bourdon,  B.,  366,  369. 
Bradley,  F.  H.,  282,  359. 
Brentano,  F.,  368. 

Breuer,  J.,  345  note,  346  note,  349,  361. 
Biihler,  K.,  363,  364,  365,  366. 


Caldwell,  M.  G.,  284. 
Clement  of  Alexandria,  264. 
Cole,  L.  W.,  356. 
Cook,  H.  D.,  341  note. 
Cooley,  H.  C,  378. 
Cornelius,  H.,  363,  365. 

Darwin,  C,  207,  376. 
Dewey,  J.,  376. 
Dodge,  R.,  340. 

2E 


Donaldson,  H.,  291,  295  note,  297  note. 
Dumas,  G.,  376. 
Diirr,  E.,  366. 

Ebbinghaus,  H.,  55,  81,  278,  283,  327 
note,  335,  338  note,  339  note,  341 
note,  342,  349,  361,  362,  363,  36s,  366. 

Ehrenfels,  Chr.,  365. 

Ellis.  A.  J.,  318. 

Englemann,  Th.  W.,  322. 

Everett,  C.  C,  374. 

Ewald,  K.,  317. 

Fechner,  G.  T.,  284. 

Fere,  Ch.,  375. 

Fichte,  J.  G.,  258,  270. 

Fite,  W.,  346  note,  349. 

Flechsig,  P.,  296,  374,  375. 

Foster,  M.,  293,  294,  298,  312,  322  note. 

Franklin,  C.  L.,  305  ff.,  307  note,  308,  310. 

Franz,  S.  I.,  327  note,  328. 

Freud,  S.,  361,  383  and  note. 

Frey,  M.  von,  325,  326,  328,  335,  336  note. 

Galton,  F.,  25,  284. 

Gamble,  E.  A.  McC,  16  note,  118  note, 

122,  323,  344  note,  349,  361,  362,  364, 

376- 
Gardiner,  H.  N.,  398  note. 
Goldscheider,  A.,  57,  328. 
Groos,  K.,  356. 


Haggarty,  M.  E.,  356. 

Hamlin,  A.  J.,  358. 

Hannsen,  F.  C.  C,  399  note. 

Hayes,  S.  P.,  371  note,  373. 

Head,  H.,  327  note,  328. 

Hegel,  G.  W.  F.,  251. 

Helmhollz,  H.  L.  F.  von,  45,  302,  308, 

309,  310,  31S,  316,  318,  349. 
Hering,  E.,  72,  302-305,  307  and  note, 

308,  309,  310,  337  note,  339  note,  341, 

342- 
Hillehrand,  F.,  342  note,  343  note. 
H5tTding.  H..  373. 

417 


4i8 


Judex  to  Aulliors 


IlOllcr,  A.,  362,  365. 
Holland,  H.  S.,  378. 
Howell,  \V.  H.,  287,  28Q,  2Q5,  300,  314, 

315  note,  322  note,  323  note. 
Hume,  D.,  157,  182  f. 
Huxley,  T.,  367. 

James,  W.,  20,  21  note,  26,  34,  85,  87 
note,  107  note,  108,  129,  152,  154,  164 
note,  167  note,  168  note,  200  note,  207 
note,  211,  224,  225  note,  228,  229,  230, 
23s.  237,  280,  283,  284,  290,  291,  337, 
341,  351  note,  352,  359,  362,  365,  366, 
368,  375,  376,  378,  3QI  note,  399  note. 

Janet,  Pierre,  386  f. 

Jastrow,  J.,  394  note,  399. 

Jennings,  H.  S.,  355. 

Johnston,  C.  H.,  369. 

Judd,  C.  H.,  86  note,  163  note,  279  f., 
340,  341  note,  342,  363,  366. 

Jung,  C.  G.,  361. 

Kant,  I.,  194.  251  and  note,  258,  347,  368, 

373- 
Kelchner,  M.,  373. 
Keller,  Helen,  28. 
Kiesow,  F.,  323. 
Kinnaman,  A.  J.,  356. 
Kirkpatrick,  E.  A.,  356. 
Konig,  R.,  349. 
Kraepelin,  E.,  374. 
Kragt  Ebing,  R.  von,  385,  386. 
Kramer,  F.,  361. 

Kries,  J.  von,  305,  306,  308,  348  note,  349. 
Kriiger,  F.,  349. 
Kiilpe,  O.,  20  f.,  284,  297  note,  334,  359, 

363.  373,  374- 
Kurella,  H.,  375. 

Ladd,  G.  T.,  72,  377. 

Lange,  K.,  375. 

Lay,  W.,  284. 

Le  Bon,  G.,  247,  249,  378. 

Lehmann,  A.,  362,  364,  37s,  399  note. 

Leuba,  J.  H.,  379. 

Lewes,  G.  H.,  117,  284. 

Lipps,  Th.,  335,  339  note,  342,  373,  374, 

378. 
Locke,  J.,  367. 
Lotze,  H.,  336. 

Marbe,  K.,  363,  365. 

Marshall,  H.  R.,  356,  373,  374,  375- 

Martin,  H.  N.,  310,  325. 


Martin,  L.  J.,  374. 
Martineau,  J.,  184. 
Matsumoto,  M.,  344  note,  349. 
McDougall,   W.,   318  f.,   356,   358,   374. 

378,  394  note. 
M'Kendrick,  J.  G.,  317  note,  318. 
Mead,  G.  H.,  378. 
Meinong,  A.,  341  note,  362,  365. 
Mercier,  D.,  373. 
Mcsser,  A..  363,  365. 
Metzner,  R.,  335  note,  336  note. 
Meumann,  E.,  350. 
Meyer,  M.,  317,  349,  358,  369,  374  f., 

375- 
Mill,  J.  S.,  126  f. 
Miller,  D.,  367. 

Mitchell,  W.,  280,  282,  283,  366. 
Montague,  W.  P.,  283. 
Moore,  K.  C,  356. 
Morgan,  C.  L.,  87  note,  356,  368. 
Miiller,  G.  E.,  304  note,  308,  365. 
MuUer,  M.,  167,  368.  ' 
Miinsterberg,    H.,    194,    282,    283,    329, 

345  note,  347  note,  349,  361,  3(>3,  365. 

366,  373,  375,  398,  399. 
Myers,  C.  S.,  46,  50  note,  52  note,  69 

note,  83  note,  96  note,  118  note,  315 

f.,  316  note,  323,  334,  337  note,  349. 
Myers,    F.     W.     H.,     396     note,     398, 

3Q9- 

Nadejde,  D.  C,  376. 
Nagel,  W.,  295  note,  308,  320,  322  note, 
323,  327  note,  328. 

Oehrwall,  H.,  323  note. 
Orth,  J.,  373- 

Parish,  E.,  389  note,  390  note. 

Patrick,  G.  T.  W.,  48,  323. 

Peckham,  E.  G.,  356. 

Peckham,  G.  W.,  356. 

Perez,  B.,  356. 

Perry,  R.  B.,  283. 

Pfleiderer,  E.,  264. 

Pierce,  A.  H.,  344  note,  346,  347  note, 

348,  34Q- 
Pillsbury,  W.  B.,  282,  358. 
Podmore,  F.,  395  note,  396  note,  397  note, 

39S,  399- 
Porter,  J.,  356. 

Preyer,  W.,  344  note,  349,  356. 
Prince,  M.,  391  f. 
Puffer,  E.  D.,  373,  374- 


Index  to  Authors 


419 


Ratzel,  F.,  267. 

Rehmke,  J.,  282. 

Rivers,  VV.  II.  R.,  327  note,  328. 

Romanes,  G.  J.,  368. 

Ross,  E.  A.,  378. 

Rowe,  S.  H.,  356. 

Royce,  J.,  255,  257,  367,  372,  373,  378. 

Ruskin,  J.,  i().s. 

Rutherford,  W.,  317. 

Sanfonl,  E.  C,  31  note,  36  note,  37  note, 
41  note,  42  note,  52  note,  56  note,  58 
note,  59  note,  69  note,  72,  74  note,  78, 
81  note,  301  note,  305  note,  307  note, 
308  note,  309  note,  316  note,  320  note, 
321  note,  323  note,  338  note. 

Santayana,  G.,  196,  373. 

Schafer,  E.  A.,  295,  296  note,  317  note, 
318. 

Schafer,  K.  L.,  318. 

Schiller,  Fr.,  194,  373. 

Schicicrmacher,  F.  0.  E.,  379. 

Schneider,  G.,  351  note,  356. 

Schopenhauer,  A.,  194,  195,  373. 

Schultz,  J.  H.,  361. 

Schumann,  R.,  341  note,  366. 

Seashore,  C.  E.,  37  note,  41  note,  52  nolo, 
56  note,  59  note,  69  note,  74  note,  79 
note,  98  note,  118  note,  198  note,  200 
note,  308  note. 

Sherrcn,  J.,  327  note,  328. 

Sherrington,  C.  S.,  328. 

Shinn,  M.  \V.,  356. 

Sidgwick,  H.,  396,  398,  399  note. 

Sidgwick,  H.,  Mrs.,  396,  398. 

Small,  \V.  S.,  356. 

Smith,  M.  K.,  350. 

Sollier,  P.,  369. 

Spencer,  H.,  362,  365,  366,  376,  379. 

Spinoza.  B.  dc,  183,  184,  251,  259,  373. 

Starch,  D.,  344  note,  349. 

Stern,  W.,  282,  361,  379. 

Stout,  G.,  363,  36s,  368. 

Stratton,  G.  S.,  283,  340. 

Stumpf,  C,  282,  318,  341,  345  note,  346, 
347.  348,  349.  358,  363.  365,  369.  375- 

Sully,  J.,  284. 


Talbot,  E.  B..  329. 

Tardc,  G.,  249,  378. 

Thompson,  H.  B.,  376. 

Thorndikc,  E.  L.,  102  note,  161  f.,  288 
note,  355.  3S6,  368,  377,  400  note. 

Thunberg,  T.,  328. 

Titchener,  E.  B.,  32  note,  ^.i,  36  note, 
37  note,  41  note,  42  note,  50  note,  52 
note,  56  note,  58  note,  59  note,  69 
note,  74  note,  82  note,  83  note,  83  f., 
98  note,  115  note,  198  note,  2ck3  note, 
272,  282,  308  note,  316  note,  320  note, 
321  note,  323  note,  334,  335,  338  note, 
357  and  notes,  358,  364,  366,  369,  370 
note,  371  note,  372  and  note,  373,  374, 
375,  400  note. 

Tylor,  E.  B.,  264  and  note,  265. 

Urbantschitsch,  V.,  349. 
Vogt,  O.,  373. 

Ward,  J.,   279,   280,   281  and  note,   282, 

283,  297.  373- 
Washburn,   M.   F.,    282,    285   note,    297 

note,  319  note,  329,  330,  356,  366. 
Watson,  J.  B.,  356. 
Watt,  H.  J.,  361,  363,  365. 
Weinmann,  F.,  349. 
Wendell,  B.,  loi. 
Werthcimer,  M.,  361. 
Whipple,  G.  M.,  400  note. 
Whitney,  W.,  368. 
Wilson,  H.  A.,  349. 
Witasek,  S.,  278,  335,  362,  365,  366. 
Witmer,  L.,  71  note,  98  note. 
Woodbridge.  F.  J.  E.,  283. 
Woodworth,  R.  S.,  363,  364,  365,  377  note. 
Wundt,  W.,  340  note,  345  note,  349,  351 

note,  358,  359,  362,  364.  366,  370  5-, 

374,  375.  379- 

Yerkes,  R.  M.,  354,  356,  361. 
Young,  T.,  302. 

Zieglcr.  J.,  374- 

Zwaardcmaker,  H.,  320,  321,  323. 


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